


A Long Flight Home

by KatieSkarlette



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Abandonment, Broken Families, Child Death, Domestic Violence, Egg Laying, F/M, Fratricide, Grief/Mourning, Hearing Voices, Heterosexual Sex, Illnesses, Long-Distance Relationship, Mental Health Issues, Mind Control, Parent-Child Relationship, Past Rape/Non-con, Pneumonia, Romance, Self-Hatred, Tragic Romance, Widowed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2018-03-06 22:33:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 43,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3150755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatieSkarlette/pseuds/KatieSkarlette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nyxondra is known as the mother of the Black Prince. Wrathion claims Deathwing as his father, yet it has been stated more than once by Blizzard that the Destroyer is not his biological father, but a symbolic one. Then who was Wrathion's father? Could the answer be hiding in plain sight? There is someone close the Black Prince who is very, very good at doing just that…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Although the relationship between Fahrad and Nyxondra in this fanfic is my own invention, I have tried to stay fairly close to canon in other respects. Anyone familiar with the tale of Nyxondra (or anyone who has quested in the Badlands post-Cataclysm) knows how things turned out for her. In other words: fair warning, there will be character deaths. Nothing that isn’t already canon, though.
> 
> The last section of this fic will overlap with chapters two and three of my other, Wrathion-centric story, "The Black Prince: The Beginning.” You don’t technically need to have read that story before this one, but there are additional tidbits about Fahrad’s backstory and the situation with Wrathion in there. Consider this a prequel.
> 
> The story starts a few months after the original Dark Portal was destroyed in Warcraft II (i.e. spring of Year 7 in the timeline. Wrathion was hatched in Year 28.)

The afternoon sun blazed down from a cloudless sky, baking the barren red rocks of the Badlands.  A lone figure on a horse rode along a barely-visible path that wound around the base of one of the area's many tall mesas.   He favored the shadowed side of the canyon to keep his mount from overheating, but had he been alone he would have preferred the sun.  The hotter the better, as far as he was concerned.

Visually, the rider was a human in his late thirties, with fair skin and light red hair held back in a tail.  His small beard and mustache were neatly trimmed, and he was dressed in unassuming leather armor that had been a dull gray before the red dust of the Badlands had seeped into every crevice.

Appearances, however, could be deceiving.  Although he rarely took his true form anymore, Fahrad was born--or, rather, _hatched_ \--a black dragon.   He had become so skilled at hiding this fact that even his horse treated him as a human, and had never once been spooked by his draconic scent.

Fahrad pulled on the reins to slow his mount and leaned over in the saddle, studying the tracks on the ground.  This route wasn't often used except for the local ogres and the occasional dwarven archaeologist or prospector.  The prints he was following belonged to an individual who weighed less than either, and had a wider stance.

He nodded, spotting a clear bootprint in the dust.  A goblin had definitely passed through here recently.  Excellent.

_Kill him, destroy him, eviscerate him, bathe in his blood!_ came a chorus of whispers inside his head.

"Oh, I'll kill him, all right," Fahrad murmured.   "But I'll do it because of the bounty on his head, not because of anything you monsters have to say."

The Old Gods fell silent...for now.  They would speak up again, as they always did.  As they always had, and always would.

Fahrad sighed and wearily shifted his weight in the saddle.  He was beginning to regret taking a horse instead of simply flying in his true form, but he avoided shifting out of his human guise whenever possible.  The whispers seemed less powerful that way.  

When _was_ the last time he returned to his real body?   It had been months, perhaps even a year or more.  Time seemed to go more slowly when living as a human.  Their paltry lifespans meant they thought and planned in much smaller increments than dragons did.

Regardless, he was more than skilled enough with his daggers to take down his quarry without relying on flame breath or claws.  He had no personal quarrel with the goblin in question, named Fleeb Quickstack.  One of the trade princes had uncovered evidence of him embezzling a large quantity of gold, which he had then gambled away in Gadgetzan.  The trade prince had given Quickstack one year to pay back what he owed, with steep interest.  Quickstack had been dealing in the lucrative black market pet trade to make money, but he still owed a small fortune.  The year was now up, and the trade prince made it known that he would award the balance of Quickstack's debt in exchange for the traitor's head.

It was a substantial bounty, which meant that Fahrad was not the only one trying to find him.  None of the others had the keen senses of a dragon, however.

A glob of a dark, sticky substance on a rock caught Fahrad's eye, and he brought his horse to a halt.  He dismounted and bent down to inspect the stain.  A shallow sniff confirmed his suspicion:  that was the brand of snuff Quickstack chewed.  He had to be close.

There was no sign of the goblin returning through the narrow canyon, so he must be somewhere ahead.  Judging by the freshness of the disgorged tobacco, he was probably only a few miles away.

Fahrad turned back to his mount to continue his journey, but before he reached it a loud roar shook the canyon, echoing until it seemed to come from all directions at once.

He looked up in surprise to see an enormous, dark shape filling the sky.  With the bright sun behind it he was unable to tell what color scales the dragon had, but there was no mistaking the species.

The dragon shrieked again, even more loudly.  To mortal ears it would have been a generic, bestial cry, but Fahrad recognized both rage and distress in its tone.  Something terrible had happened to this one.

The dragon came to a halt directly over him, apparently noticing him for the first time.

Fahrad did not dare move a muscle.  He could easily defend himself in his natural form, but he didn't want to shift unless he absolutely had to.   Hopefully this stranger would pass him by.

The dragon tucked its wings close to its sides to dive straight down into the canyon, landing in front of him with a thump that sent pebbles bouncing down the side of the cliff.

Now that he had a clear, close view, Fahrad saw this was a fellow member of the black dragonflight, a female only slightly older than himself.   His horse screeched in terror, and he grabbed the reins tightly to keep it from bolting away.

She snarled at him, clearly unaware of his true species.   "Have you seen a goblin pass through here?  Answer truly and I will let you live, mortal."

Fahrad raised his eyebrows.  "A goblin?"   Could she be looking for Quickstack, too?  If so, why?

"Quickly, human," the dragon snapped, baring teeth that were as long as his entire body.

"What do you want with him?" he asked, crossing his arms on his chest.

"That is none of your concern."

"There's a sizable bounty on his head that I mean to collect," he said calmly.  "And I don't plan to share it."

The dragon crept closer to him, enormous talons sinking into the rocky ground mere feet away from where he stood.  "I don't have time for your greed, human," she growled.  "That little green bastard has my eggs!   Either you tell me which way he went, or I'll burn you alive and then track him down myself."

A jolt of surprise nearly made Fahrad let go of the panicked horse.  "Your eggs?"

"Yes, three of them," she said impatiently, spreading her wings as best she could in the confines of the canyon.  "And this isn't the first time that miserable wretch has taken my babies!"

Anger welled up in his chest at the thought of innocent whelplings being sold on the black market.  Loyalty to the dragonflight he had avoided for decades resurfaced, and worry over the reward money suddenly seemed petty.  " _In that case, I'll help you find him_ ," he said in draconic.

Her eyes widened in shock as he grew in size, sprouted wings, darkened, and shifted into a black dragon as large as herself.   "You're..." she gasped.

The horse bolted back up the path, eyes rolling in sheer terror at the sight of two full-grown dragons.

Fahrad stretched his wings several times, getting used to the feel of them again after so long.  "He was headed that way," he said, pointing with his chin in the opposite direction of the horse's escape.

She didn't take the time to question him.  She launched herself into the air and soared off in the direction he had indicated.

Unconcerned at the loss of his mount, Fahrad followed her.   It had been such a long time since his last flight that the experience was disorienting.  He felt like a hatchling testing his wings for the first time.   He focused on the other dragon's back instead of the red landscape blurring by far below.   She was flying so fast he had to struggle to keep up.  

He couldn't recall the last time he saw another member of his flight.  He hadn't even been aware of how deeply he missed his own kind until he was face to face with her and her striking eyes, glowing like fresh lava.

His companion banked abruptly and then stopped.  "There," she hissed.

He spotted a tiny, green figure trekking through the bleak landscape, bent under the weight of a large knapsack.

"I could dive down there and crush him like an insect," she growled, "but I can't risk any harm coming to the eggs."

"Leave it to me," he said with a devious smile.   "Stay out of his sight."

She hesitated, then decided to trust him.  She circled down to land on one of the steep towers of red rock that dotted the area.

Fahrad flew a wide arc around to approach his target head-on.   He landed around the corner of a bluff, confident that he hadn't been seen.   He shifted back into his familiar human form and slipped into the shadows as only a skilled rogue could.  Quickstack wouldn't see him coming until it was too late.

_Kill him, end him, make him suffer!_ the Old Gods chorused in the recesses of his mind.

As always, he did his best to ignore them.

The goblin glanced behind him nervously and sped up his pace.   Fahrad crouched with daggers ready, waiting until he was so close he could smell the snuff on his breath.  Years of experience guided him as he invisibly crept into position and then slashed simultaneously at the goblin's ankle and throat.

Quickstack barely had time for a surprised gurgle before he collapsed forward into the dust in a rapidly-growing puddle of his own blood.

The female dragon descended like a bolt of lightning, and the ground shook under her weight.  "The eggs!  Are they...?"

Fahrad slipped the knapsack off the goblin's back and opened it to find three spiked eggs with black, iridescent shells.  "They look fine to me."

Their mother heaved a sigh of relief, eagerly reaching out to accept each egg as Fahrad held them up.  "Oh, thank Khaz'goroth!"  She cradled them close to her chest and shuddered at the thought of how close she had come to losing them.  "And thank _you_...what was your name?"

He had taken great pains to distance himself from his flight, but lying to her felt wrong.  "Fahradion.  But call me Fahrad."

She dipped her head in gratitude.  "I am Nyxondra."

Fahrad turned back to the dead goblin and knelt to begin hacking at his neck.

"Isn't he already dead?" Nyxondra asked, puzzled.

"Very, but I need his head to collect the bounty."

"Ah, of course.  Allow me."  She carefully used one of her immense talons to sever the goblin's head from his body, then flicked the rest of his corpse away.  It came to rest partway up the nearest cliff, and she flapped over to blast a torrent of flame until there was nothing left but a smudge of ashes.

Fahrad stuffed the dripping goblin head into the backpack and slung it over his shoulder.  "Well, that worked out," he said, smiling at her.  "We each got what we wanted."

"Yes...  Where are you from?  I haven't seen you around before."

"I'm from Alterac originally," he said truthfully.   "It's kind of a long story but...I've been working as a bounty hunter and assassin among the mortal races for awhile now."  He gestured at the backpack, which had a growing bloodstain in the bottom.

"Well, I am in your debt, Fahrad," she said with an earnest smile.  "If I had continued to fly around in a panic I might not have found that thief in time, and I don't know how I could have attacked him without harming my eggs, as well."  She scowled at the scorched remnant of the goblin on the mountainside.  "He got away with some of my eggs a few months ago, and I still have nightmares thinking about what might have happened to them."

Fahrad had seen enough "pet" battles, and heard plenty of leatherworkers hawking their wares, to imagine several unpleasant scenarios, but he held his tongue to spare her.  "Your mate will be relieved to have these three home safely, I'm sure."

The jubilation on her face instantly evaporated.   "I'm sure he would be, if he knew.  Hemathion was summoned to accompany Deathwing through the Dark Portal."  She spoke the Aspect's name with a hint of distaste, which was unusual.  Most black dragons revered their leader.  "I do not know if he survived or not, but even if he did, he's trapped on the other side."

Fahrad had heard about the recent incident, of course, and it had only reinforced his decision to stay away from all other members of his flight.

"I have tried to hold off as long as I can, but these are the last," she said, looking sadly at the eggs in her paws.  Mother dragons could pace themselves to keep laying for months after their last mating, but the supply of viable eggs wasn't infinite.

"Sorry for your loss," Fahrad said awkwardly, wiping blood from his daggers onto the already-soiled backpack.

"Thank you," she said quietly.  She took a deep breath and attempted to recover her good mood.  "Please, join me for a meal at my lair.  I just brought back some bears for the children and myself."

"I wouldn't want to impose."

"Nonsense.  It's the least I can do after your help."

The thought of eating as a dragon, tearing into raw meat with his own sharp teeth, was too appealing to refuse.  "All right.  I couldn't make it to Booty Bay tonight, anyway.  This'll keep an extra day."  He set down the backpack containing the goblin's head and shifted back into his real body.   He carefully hooked the bag onto one of his claws and took to the air.

Nyxondra led him eastward.  The canyons below were heavily shadowed as the sun sank toward the opposite horizon.  Without her to guide him, he would never have spotted the cave entrance from the air.  She circled down to a small plateau high in the coastal mountains, and no sooner did she land than a cloud of black whelps of varying sizes streamed out to greet her.

"Mama!  Mama!  Did you find them?"

"Did you eat that nasty old goblin?"

"Mama!  Are you okay?"

"Can we eat now?  I'm _starving_!"

"Who's _that_?"

Nyxondra smiled tolerantly as her children swarmed around, chattering and landing on her back.  "Children, please, calm down.   Yes, I found the eggs, and they are safe.  This is Fahrad, who helped me track down the goblin."

A tiny female whelp fluttered up to Fahrad and sniffed the bag hanging on his claw.  "Something smells yummy!"

"That would be the goblin's head," he said with a smirk.

"Oh eew!" the whelpling cried, then fled, giggling, into the crowd of her siblings.

Nyxondra grinned fondly and herded the whelps into the cave.  "I'll just get these eggs back into the nest, and then, yes, we can eat."

"Yay!" chorused the whelps.

Fahrad dropped the backpack just inside the mouth of the cave and followed them into the depths of the mountain.  Nyxondra's lair was spacious, with the first and largest chamber comprised of several tiers of red rock, its high ceiling supported by sturdy pillars of natural stone.  A ribbon of lava ran through it, flowing down an incline to pool around an island that was large enough for Nyxondra to walk around on comfortably.  In the center was a tangled nest of moss and gravel, where she now placed the three eggs.

While she was busy with the nest, Fahrad endured a barrage of questions from the curious whelps.

"Hi, I'm Hemartia!"

"My name is Razorion!"

"You're really big!"

"Thanks for helping Mama find the eggs!"

"What are you going to do with that goblin's head?"

"Where are you from?"

"Did you know our father?"

"Do you have a sore throat?  You sound funny."

Fahrad self-consciously ran a paw across his scarred neck, unable to think of a proper response.  

Fortunately, Nyxondra rescued him.  "All right, children, leave Fahrad alone now.  The bears are in the food cave.  Help yourselves, but leave one for me and one for our guest."

The whelps cheered and zoomed off to the far end of the cavern, pushing and shoving to be the first one there.

Nyxondra watched them go with a proud smile.  "I hope they weren't bothering you too much.  We don't have many visitors, so they get excited to meet someone new."

Fahrad coughed twice as he composed himself.  "It's fine.  I'm just not used to having whelps around.  I haven't spent much time with other members of the flight for...many years."

"You sound parched.  There's a spring in that corner by the twin pillars, if you wish to drink."

"Thank you, but um...I always sound like this.  Old throat injury."

"Oh!  I'm so sorry!  I didn't mean...  My apologies."  Her concerned eyes glowed crimson in the dimly-lit cavern, and he was struck by how pretty they were.

"No, no, it's fine," he said quickly.  "I will take a drink, actually."  He walked over to the spot she had indicated, and found water trickling from a crack in the wall, pooling in a natural well below.  He took his time, drinking deeply and splashing water into his eyes to wash out the gritty dust that seemed to permeate everything in the Badlands.

_Stop it,_ he told himself.  _She has beautiful eyes.  Fine.  You noticed.  That's all that will come of it.  You've chosen to live apart from the rest of the flight for a reason, remember?_

_A noble but futile gesture,_ the Old Gods whispered.   _You can pretend to be human all you like but you are still ours._

Fahrad scowled.  _I wasn't talking to you._

Mad laughter echoed in his head, then died away.

He ran another pawful of water over his face for good measure and finally dared return to where Nyxondra was waiting.   By now the whelps had ripped apart their bears and dragged their suppers into their favorite nooks and crannies.

Nyxondra smiled to welcome him back.

_Oh no, she's even prettier when she smiles,_ he thought, trying to make his heart slow down.  _I can't.  I swore I would never..._

"We had better enjoy these bears," she said as they walked toward the side chamber that served as a larder.  "I usually can't get away long enough to hunt as far north as Loch Modan, but I get _so damn tired_ of ogres, mountain lions and coyotes.  Of course, if I hadn't taken that extra long hunting trip I would have been here to guard the eggs from that cursed goblin...  I feel like such a bad mother."

He glanced around at the whelps scattered throughout the cave.   Two were rolling over and over in a tussle over a choice flank of meat, growling in what they no doubt thought was a fearsome manner.  "You seem to be doing just fine, from what I can see."

"Thank you."  Her brief smile did not touch her eyes.  "It's not easy alone."  She picked up a large black bear carcass and gave it to him, then grabbed the last one for herself.  She led him a short distance away to a flat outcropping of rock that was broad enough to accommodate them both.  Without further conversation, she tore into her meal with ravenous gusto.

Fahrad made a habit of ordering a thick, rare steak at nearly every inn he passed.  It had been a very long time since he'd hunted as a dragon, but he never went hungry.  Watching Nyxondra and her brood devour their suppers, he suspected they had not been as lucky.

The female dragon had appealing curves, true, but she also seemed a bit too thin.  There were only so many mountain lions to be had, he supposed, and with a brood of growing whelplings to feed...

"You can have the rest of mine," he said, pushing the last third of the bear carcass toward her.  "I'm full."

She looked up in surprise, a shred of meat dangling from her teeth.  "Are you sure?"

"Yeah.  I had a big lunch."

She eyed him suspiciously, but even if it was charity she was too hungry to object.  "Thank you," she said at last, reaching over to scoop up his leftovers.

Fahrad laid on his stomach, resting his chin on his front paws, and let his gaze wander over the happy whelps chasing and play-fighting.  He had not seen a hatchling of his own species since he was old enough to leave his parents' lair.   He and two of his brothers had struck out on their own, determined to protect each other and make a good life for themselves.

A lump of grief made him clear his throat, and Nyxondra looked at him expectantly.  "Everything all right?"

"Hmm?  Oh, yeah.  Just thinking back on old times.  I barely remember being their age."

Nyxondra cracked open a bear femur to slurp out the marrow.   "Do you have a brood of your own somewhere?"

"No!" he said immediately.

"You make it sound like a bad thing," she mused, tilting her head quizzically.

"For most, it isn't.  But not for me."

"Ah.  And are you a loner because you choose to be, or because you've been forced to be?" she asked shrewdly.

He narrowed his eyes.  "It's best for all concerned, believe me."

"Why, do you snore?" she asked.  "Deep voice like yours, I bet you snore loudly enough to wake the dead."

He wasn't sure which irritated him more:  her teasing, or the fact that not a single expression she had made so far was unattractive.   "It's the voices," he growled.

Her playful smile disappeared.  "We all hear them," she said with a shrug, as if that was supposed to make it better.

"They took control, once.  I can't risk them doing it again," he said so quietly that she had to lean closer to hear.

"It's a struggle," she said with a sympathetic nod.

"A struggle I lost, and my clutchbrothers paid with their lives."  He had never told anyone about what he had done, partly because of the shame and fear that still overwhelmed him at the memories, and partly because he had not spoken to another dragon since that horrible day.

She took a long, slow breath, absorbing this.

He looked away.  "So you'll excuse me if I'm not exactly eager to put myself in a position where I'll hurt someone important again."

Nyxondra settled down on her stomach beside him, so close that her haunch brushed against his.  He edged away to avoid contact, but for one fleeting moment their scales touched.  He had not made physical contact with another dragon since...  Well, since the day he killed his brothers in a berserk fury.

"I've lost most of my siblings to them," she said at last.  There was no need to specify who "they" were.  All black dragons were only too aware.  "They're not all dead, but they might as well be.   And my poor mother..."  She bowed her head, leaving that thought unfinished.  "I don't mean to minimize what happened to you," she said softly.  "But I do understand a little of what it's like."

"No," he said flatly.  "Until you come to your senses and find yourself with your own clutchbrothers' blood on your claws, you can't understand."

She slouched.  "I suppose you're right.   Still...you seem quite sane now, or I wouldn't have invited you into my lair with my children."  She gave a tentative smile that made his stomach flip over.

Titans, she was pretty.  Why did she have to be so pretty?   And nice?  And smiling at him like that?

He swallowed and looked away again.  "Don't trust me.   I don't trust myself."

"How long ago was your lapse?"

He paused to estimate.  Time passed so strangely among mortals.  "About a hundred and twenty years," he said eventually.

"And you haven't had another...incident in all that time?"

"None like that one.  But I still hear them."

"Of course you hear them.  I hear them.   Everyone does.  Could I snap someday and slay my children?  Certainly.   But I can't live every day in fear, wondering when or if it will happen.  You have to make the most of every day that passes normally."  She stood up and looked down at him with a compassionate smile.  "Please, make yourself at home.   Sleep anywhere you'd like.  You may not trust yourself, but after more than a century of unbroken self-control, I say you've earned a clean slate."

Fahrad made a sour face but said nothing to avoid offending his hostess.

Nyxondra went around the cavern, gathering up her offspring and herding them into a side chamber.  "Sleep time, little ones," she called.   "That means you, too, Eclipsia!"

"Aww," whined a disappointed whelpling who had thought her hiding place behind a mass of stalagmites was foolproof.

When the entire brood was safely inside, she turned back to him.  "Good night, Fahrad.  And thank you again for your help.  My last three whelps owe their lives to you."  With that, she crept into the smaller cave and laid down, lifting one wing for the smallest of her children to nestle closer.

Fahrad settled down near the lava stream on the opposite end of the cavern, keeping his back to the others.  Sleep was elusive, however.

What was he doing here?  He should be flying southward right now, on his way to Booty Bay to claim the bounty on that stupid goblin.   Instead he was lying here in the same cavern as a stunningly gorgeous, _available_ female dragon who seemed to like him.  

Nothing could come of it.  He would not allow it.  He had long ago vowed never to take a mate.  If he snapped again and harmed his beloved or their children...  He shivered despite the proximity of the lava.

No, as soon as it was light out he would leave and never look back.  Nyxondra had been getting along fine on her own.  She was certainly better off without a dangerous rogue like himself hanging around.

Fahrad eventually dropped off to sleep.  His dreams featured Nyxondra tending to a different brood of hatchlings...ones that looked more like him.  What should have been a nightmare brought a smile to the slumbering dragon's face, yet he remembered nothing of the dream in the morning.

 

* * *

 

"Do you really have to leave so soon?" Nyxondra asked, standing beside him at the mouth of her lair.  The sun was still low in the eastern sky, casting heavy shadows across the mountains.

"I have to get this head to Booty Bay before it's too rotted to identify."  He lifted a paw, dangling the stained backpack on one claw.

Seeing the disappointment on her lovely face hurt more than it should have.

"Thank you for your hospitality," he said with a bow of his head.

"Thank you for saving my eggs.  And please, next time you're in the area...drop by for a visit."

"Of course," he said despite not having any intention of doing so.  

She hesitated, then blurted, "Or do more than visit." 

He looked at her oddly.

She hurried to continue, looking out over the rust-colored landscape.  "There are several members of our flight living here in the eastern Badlands.  We've formed a small community of those who wish to have nothing to do with Deathwing, Nefarian and the others.  We keep to ourselves and try to live as normally and peacefully as we can, despite the whispers.  Until the Destroyer swept through a few months ago and ordered some of us to follow him through the Dark Portal, we had not been involved in his schemes at all."  Nyxondra turned to look at him again with a kind smile.  "You would be welcome here."

Fahrad shook his head as she explained.  "No," he said firmly.  "Thank you, but no.  I live, and work, alone."   His tone left no room for argument.

"I understand," she said quietly.  "If you change your mind--"

"I won't."

"--the offer still stands," she finished despite his interruption.  "There aren't many of us here, but it's as close to 'normal' as possible for our kind."

He swallowed, more tempted than he was willing to admit.   But no, "normal" was a fantasy for a black dragon.  Even now, the Old Gods murmured insistently in the back of his mind, ordering him to rip her throat out.  If he stayed he would only hurt someone.

Fahrad bowed his head and backed away a step, preparing to fly.   "Farewell, Nyxondra.  Take care."

She stepped forward and nuzzled her head against his neck.   "You too, Fahrad."  With that, she turned and disappeared into the cavern.

The moment of simple, friendly contact stunned him so badly that it was several long seconds before he could concentrate enough to fly away.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Fahrad had gone by several aliases during his time living as a human, and had trained himself to answer to them all without hesitation.  So it was that he immediately turned around when a voice called, "Rod Searison, is that you?  By the Light, you haven't aged a day!"  
  
Memories clicked into place as soon as he saw the man grinning at him from the doorway of an apothecary's shop.  Although he had considerably more of a belly and less hair than the last time they crossed paths, Fahrad recognized him as a rogue by the name of Dan Westrill.  
  
He changed course in mid-stride to greet him with a hearty handshake.  "Dan!  How the hell are ya?"  
  
"Living the good life," he said with a self-mocking smirk, patting his rotund midsection.  
  
"So I see.  Not much for stealth these days, I take it?"  
  
Dan gave an easy laugh and seemed far more carefree than Fahrad remembered.  "I'm a family man now."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yeah.  Been with Rozlin for nigh on thirteen years, now."  
  
"Gods, has it been that long?"  
  
"Yeah, hard to believe, isn't it?  Has to be at least fifteen years since you and I pulled off that, er, job in Kharanos, eh?"  

The "job" in question had involved assassinating a gnomish inventor and retrieving blueprints she had supposedly stolen from a goblin trade prince.  Fahrad didn't care in the slightest if the accusation was true.  The gold he earned on that job had allowed him to buy a high-quality pair of boots that lasted him for years.  
  
"I remember," Fahrad said with a chuckle.  "You slipped on the ice and just about blew our cover.  If I hadn't made a perfect wolf call to scare away the sentry, we'd have both been behind bars, or worse."  
  
"And you'll never let me forget it," Dan said, elbowing him in the ribs.  "Ah, good times."  
  
Fahrad looked up at the sign hanging above the shop's entrance:  Westrill & Son Apothecary.  "Looks like you're in a different line of work these days."  
  
"That I am.  A bit more slow-paced, and a lot safer."  He leaned closer, lowering his voice.  "You'd be amazed how brewing poisons gives you insight into making more, shall we say...benign concoctions."  
  
Fahrad nodded knowingly.  
  
"If you have a moment you should come in and meet my son!  Just turned twelve last month but he's already putting me to shame brewing elixirs."  
  
Fahrad edged back almost unconsciously.  "I really should be moving on.  Got a hot lead on a bounty for a bandit leader in Redridge."  
  
"Redridge?  Light, Rod, that's hundreds of miles away!"  
  
He planned to fly much of that distance, but merely gave an enigmatic smile.  "Which is why I can't waste time standing around here chatting with an old fool like you."  
  
Rather than taking offense, Dan roared with laugher and clapped a friendly hand on Fahrad's back.  "Ah, just as charming as ever!  Still single, I take it?"  
  
"You really think there's a woman out there who'd put up with me?" he teased.  
  
Dan's laughter faded quickly and his face took on a more serious cast.  "Of course there is.  And you really ought to find her, Rod, sooner rather than later.  Settle down.  Hang up your blades.  Have a bunch of red-haired babies."  
  
Fahrad wrinkled up his nose and shook his head.  
  
Dan wouldn't let him get a word in edgewise, however.  "No, listen to me.  I mean it.  I have never been happier than I am right now.   Skulking around in the shadows, killing and thieving...all that darkness starts to seep into your soul after awhile."  
  
Fahrad snorted, thinking of the Old Gods who had blackened his soul from the day his egg was laid.  
  
"Getting Roz knocked up was an accident, but it was the best accident I've ever had.  I could have skipped town, gone on to the next mission, or whatever, but I thought, 'Dan, for once in your life, do the right thing.'  So I married her, started up this shop, here, and...it was like another world opened up.  I love her more every day, and being a father...  Light, there is nothing like it.  Having this tiny person look up at you and call you 'dad'...it's magic.  Besides my boy in the shop, I've got three more at home, two girls and another boy.  That's what it's all about, Rod."  
  
Fahrad rolled his eyes and took a few steps backward.  "That's great, Dan.  For you.  I'm glad you're happy.  Me?  I'll hang onto my blades and my shadows.  It's where I belong."  
  
Dan shook his head with an air of paternal chiding.  "You say that now, Rod, but wait.  Someday you'll lay eyes on a person who makes you feel like you've been struck by lightning, and you'll know what I'm talking about."  
  
"For her sake, I hope not," he said with a self-deprecating grimace.  "I wouldn't wish me on anybody."  
  
Dan shrugged and leaned back against the doorframe.  "If you say so, my good man.  Be careful out there."  
  
"I will.  Good seeing you again, Dan."  
  
"Same.  Good luck."  
  
Fahrad nodded in thanks and hurried off down the street.  This was a small, coastal hamlet in south-eastern Hillsbrad, with only two streets to speak of--little more than a cluster of merchants supplying the various farms in the area.  
  
As he strolled toward the dry goods supplier, he couldn't help but think about what his old friend had said.  That feeling of being struck by lightning upon seeing someone special...  He had only felt that once, but then he had only met one member of his species as an adult, so...

He sighed, remembering Nyxondra's beautiful face, the way she had smiled at him...

Stop it, he told himself.  Keep this up and you'll start dreaming about her again.  It was five years ago, for Titans' sake.  Let it go.  


Dream of destruction, instead, the Old Gods hissed.  That friend of yours likes poisons?  Test them on him...  Watch him suffer!  

A sudden surge of aggression washed over him, and for a moment his hands closed around the hilts of his daggers.

Kill something...  Now!

For one terrible moment he wasn't sure if it was his own voice, or the dark whispers, who said it.

No.  I won't.

That was his own voice.  He ducked into an alley between a tavern and a milliner's shop.  His heart was pounding and his breaths came in shallow gasps.  He leaned his forehead and both forearms against the clapboard siding of the tavern and tried to center himself again.

It's all right, he told himself.  You're in control.  You didn't do anything.  Just ignore them.

He concentrated on his breathing until the voices receded into background noise and the searing bloodlust dulled.

Well, if he needed a reminder of exactly why he could never have his own family, that was it.  It was an incident such as this, albeit a much more severe one, that had cost his clutchbrothers their lives. 

The plan had been to stick together once they were old enough to leave their mother's lair.  That way if one of them started to lose control the other two could calm him, and they would have each other for company until they decided to go their own ways to find mates.

It had worked for many years, until Fahrad proved to be the strongest physically and the weakest mentally.  Now Mesion and Riftion were nothing but crumbling bones, and he had to live with the knowledge that their deaths had come at his own hands.  
  
He had tried to tell himself that it wasn't really his fault.  The voices made him do it.  The Old Gods had taken over.  He would never have attacked his brothers on his own.  
  
The excuses seemed hollow.  Of course it was his fault.  His brothers had done nothing to provoke him.  He had let his guard down.  He had let the Old Gods enflame his temper.  He had listened to them.  It was his claws that had torn his brothers' flesh.  His teeth that had sunk into their necks.  
  
Fahrad lifted his head away from the building and took a deep breath.  Yes, good.  Remember what you did, he told himself.  Remember why you can never have a family again.  Remember why you don't deserve that kind of happiness.  Don't trust yourself.  Don't let anyone trust you.  
  
It was a familiar refrain, and soon he had collected himself again.  He stepped back out onto the street and continued on toward the dry goods retailer to pick up supplies for the rest of his journey.  
  
As he waited for the shopkeeper to finish tallying his purchases, something hit the back of his legs.  His reflex was to reach for his daggers, but before he could get them out of their sheaths he heard a youthful voice say, "Oops!  Sorry!"  
  
"Son, watch where you're going!  How many times do I have to tell you?"  
  
Fahrad turned around and saw a small boy scrambling to pick up the fruit he had dropped in the collision.  A man who was clearly the child's father stooped to help him and caught Fahrad's eye.  "Sorry about that.  Kids, y'know."  
  
The rogue forced a thin smile and nodded before turning back to the shopkeeper.  
  
"I'm sorry, Daddy.  I'll be more careful, I promise," the boy said solemnly.  
  
"It's all right," the father said.  "Ask your grandma sometime to tell you how clumsy I was at your age."  
  
"Really?"  
  
The father did something to make the boy giggle, and a strange feeling pulsed across Fahrad's chest. What would it be like to have a son?  To watch him grow and learn, and see himself reflected in the fresh face of a child...  
  
Ridiculous.  He had nothing worth passing on to another generation, anyway.  The world would be better off without him--and without the entire damned black dragonflight, for that matter.  
  
He scowled, paid the shopkeeper, and left without a word.  
  
His original plan was to stay the night at the inn here and then set off in the morning, but right now he simply wanted to get away from everyone and everything.  He slipped away, disappearing into the lengthening evening shadows as only a skilled rogue could.  When he was far enough down the road that no one would see him, he shifted into his true body and took to the air.  
  
The whispers were louder in this form, but at the moment they were droning on about how he should go back and set the town on fire, and he was too preoccupied with his own thoughts to pay them much attention.  
  
It had been close to a year since his last flight, and he relished the sting of the cold autumn air against his scales.  He climbed higher, enjoying the silence broken only by the rushing wind and the flap of his own wings.  
  
Slaughter them all!  Burn their homes!  Sear the flesh from their pathetic little bodies!  
  
Oh.  Right.  And the voices.  He sighed.  There was no need to ever feel lonely, regardless of whether he had a mate and children.  The Old Gods were always there.  
  
Shut up, he thought.  
  
Yes, yes, shut them up in their houses, barricade the doors and windows, roast them alive!  
  
That is not what I meant.  
  
Burn, kill, incinerate, obliterate, destroy!  
  
Yeah, yeah, he replied tiredly.  
  
Fahrad flew on for several hours, passing the Thandol Span just as dawn was creeping toward the eastern horizon.  Weary in body and soul, he circled down to rest on a high mountain ledge where he wasn't likely to be disturbed and sank into an uneasy slumber.  
  
  
Fahrad had never met a green dragon, but if they were responsible for dreaming he had some choice words for any who happened to cross his path.  Countless times he had been jolted awake by nightmares, either reliving his brothers' deaths, or imagining similar scenarios playing out in the present.  Sometimes he had to get up and wash his hands just to make sure it truly was a dream.  
  
Tonight, however, the powers of the world had mercy on him and sent a more pleasant vision into his dreaming mind.  He was soaring high over the ocean, weaving in and out of puffy, fairweather clouds.  He was following someone or something.  He flew faster, and a dark shape came into view ahead.  
  
It was a dragon.  A fellow black dragon.  A female, he realized as he got closer.  She looked over her shoulder, saw him closing in on her, and dived down with a giggle.  
  
He tucked in his wings to follow her, and they spun around and around, dancing through an infinite world of clouds and sun.  
  
This meant something.  But what?  
  
"Come get me," his companion teased, veering away from him again.  
  
As he put on a burst of speed to close the distance beween them, it dawned on him.  This was a betrothal flight.  When two dragons decided to bind their lives together, they would embark on a playful chase such as this, showing off their best aerial moves to impress their partner.  When they tired of the game, one would allow the other to "catch" them, and they would join together there among the clouds to consummate their love.  
  
Fahrad flung out his wings to halt himself.  No.  He couldn't do this.  No matter how alluring this mysterious female was, he couldn't--  
  
In a sudden flash of insight, he recognized her.  This wasn't some random dragon conjured from his imagination.  It was Nyxondra.  
  
She circled back around and smirked at him as if to say, "Took you long enough to realize it was me."  
  
The moment he locked eyes with her, he came awake with a gasp.  He sat up, squinting in the late morning sunlight, and swore under his breath.  
  
Ridiculous.  Was he really that pathetic that five years after a chance meeting he was still thinking about her?  He scolded himself whenever it happened.  It was a foolish indulgence to even think she remembered him.  No doubt she had found another mate by now and hadn't given him a second thought.  Regardless, it wasn't his place.  
  
He gave a frustrated growl, stretched his wings, and resumed his journey.  He tried to think about something else, like what direction he should be travelling and how long it would take to get to Redridge.  He mentally went over the map.  He'd give Ironforge a wide berth and head south along the east shore of Loch Modan.  From there it was a straight shot down to Redridge.  He just had to cross...  Oh.  The Badlands.  
  
He swallowed and clenched his fists.  Of course he would be flying right past Nyxondra's lair.  Fate had a twisted sense of humor.  
  
It wasn't the first time in the past five years that business had taken him to the area, but never this far east.  If he kept on his current course he'd pass within ten miles of her lair.  It would be a simple matter to take a small detour, just to see how she was faring.  He wouldn't stay, of course.  Simply drop by to say hello.  Satisfy his curiosity about the new mate she inevitably had now.  Maybe then he could stop thinking about her and wondering...  


Far below him, the barren red landscape stretched out in three directions, with a fogbank obscuring the sea to the east.  He surprised himself by finding the entrance to Nyxondra's lair quite easily.

_This is stupid,_ he told himself as he circled overhead, trying to decide if he should land or not.  _Why torture myself?   I can't have her, even if she hasn't found another mate by now.  And she will have, I'm sure.  What am I doing here?   Yeah, she told me to come visit, but she was just being polite._

He couldn't produce a single good reason to do this, except for the simple fact that he wanted to.  It had been five years since he had seen another member of the black dragonflight...since he'd touched one of his own kind.  True, this was by choice, and he had gone more than a century without such contact before, but...   He sighed, letting out a puff of smoke.  As much as he tried to live as a human and deny his heritage, there was a void in his soul that could only be filled by another dragon.

Cursing himself for his weakness, Fahrad dived down to land in front of the cave entrance.  "Hello?" he called out, his deep, scratchy voice echoing in the rock chamber.  "Nyxondra?   Anybody home?"

The cavern was eerily silent at first, without the chatter of whelps that had been a constant presence last time.  After a minute, however, he heard the flap of large wings, and there she was.

Oh dear Titans, she was just as beautiful as he remembered her.  Perhaps even moreso, since she was no longer underweight.  Her scales shone a deep brownish-black, and the elegant horns on either side of her head were like polished ivory.  Her striking red eyes gleamed as she squinted into the sunlight.  "Who's there?" she asked.  He stepped into the shadows of the cave, and her face immediately brightened in recognition.  "Fahrad!"

"Hi," he said, unable to prevent a grin from taking over.  She remembered him.  "May I...?"

She rushed forward and bumped her head against his in greeting.  "Of course, come in, come in!  I'm so glad to see you!  I thought something had happened to you!"  She turned and led him into the main chamber of the cavern.

Guilt over making her worry constricted his chest.   "I've been busy," he said lamely.  "Time just..."   His voice trailed off as he realized they were alone.  No whelps swarmed out to greet him.  None were sleeping tucked in crevices.  The island where the nest had been was bare.  "Where is everyone?" he asked in a hushed tone.

She made a valiant effort to keep her smile, but it was a losing battle.  "Grown up," she said with forced cheerfulness.   "At over five years old, they're all capable of taking care of themselves.  They've set off to make their own way in the world.  Some still live nearby, but..."  She looked around the empty cavern and blinked back tears.

"You must be proud," he said hesitantly, completely unsure how to handle this.

"Oh, I am," she said, shaking her head.   "But it gets _so_ quiet in here...except for the whispers."  She bowed her head and began to weep softly.  "I'm sorry.  You didn't come to hear me moan and cry about my empty nest.  I'm being silly."

With a sudden ferocity that surprised them both, Fahrad seized her in a tight embrace.  "It's all right," he muttered.  "Don't cry."

His comment had the opposite effect.  She sank into his arms and sobbed as if her heart was breaking.  "I'm sorry," she gasped.  "I just miss my babies so much!  I don't know what to do with myself."

Fahrad had no experience whatsoever in comforting a distraught female of any species, much less his own, but instinct told him to hold her snugly and make reassuring noises.   "Ssh," he breathed, patting her back.  "It's all right."

"No, it's not!" she said fiercely, pulling back to regard him with angry desperation.  "It's not all right!  I used to be one of the most prolific broodmothers in the Eastern Kingdoms!  Now, through no fault of my own, I've been abandoned!  I don't even know if Hemathion is dead or alive.  It doesn't matter, though.  Either way he's trapped in Outland and I'll never see him again."  She wiped tears from her cheeks.  "That's twice now _Deathwing_ has ripped my family apart," she muttered so quietly he had to strain to hear.

"Surely there's someone else who--"

"There isn't!" she snarled.  "I've looked!   They're all taken, related to me, prefer other males, or reject me because--"  She cut herself off suddenly, shaking her head.  "It doesn't matter.  There is no one."  Her fury dwindled as she looked up at him with a sharp intake of breath, as if struck by inspiration.  "Fahrad?"

He took a step backward.  "Uh...yeah?"

"You're male."

"Well, um, yes, I am," he said nervously.

She inched forward with a hopeful smile.  "You could give me children."

"What?  No.  No, no, no.  I can't, I swore I would never..."  He swallowed, drawing back as she leaned forward to nuzzle her nose against his.

"Please?  I can raise them on my own again if I have to."

Her pleading expression, cheeks still wet with tears, made him tremble uncertainly.  "Nyxondra, please understand.  I can't get close to anyone.  I vowed long ago I would never...  I mean, it's not that I don't...like you.  But that's the problem.  I won't risk hurting someone I care about.   Never again.  I'm sorry."

Fresh tears welled up in her eyes, and she turned away in shame.  "Of course.  I understand.  It was horribly presumptious of me to even suggest such a thing."  A sob slipped out and she tried to disguise it with nervous laughter.  "Forgive me."

Fahrad studied the rocky floor between his front paws, torn in many directions at once.  Part of him--the part that had been yearning for the company of his own kind, the part that had brought Nyxondra into his dreams more than once, the part that had always wondered what it would be like to mate with another dragon--urged him to accept her offer.  But he couldn't.  Not an option.

It would have almost been easier if the Old Gods were telling him to kill her right now, because then he could justify his refusal.  See, he would say, the voices are trying to control me right now.  I might snap at any moment.   It's not safe for me to be here.

_The one time I want you pests to speak up, and you're ignoring me,_ he thought with a scowl.

He took a deep breath.  "Nyxondra, I'm sorry.   If I were to take anyone as my mate, you would be my first choice.  But I don't dare.  For your own safety."

She sniffed back her tears and glared at him.   "Coward."

The fin on his back stood up indignantly.  "What did you just say?"

"I said you're a coward.  Are you going to punish yourself for the rest of your life for one moment of weakness?"

He bared his teeth.  "A moment that cost my clutchbrothers their lives!"

"Over a hundred years ago!  You know what happens when invaders breach the walls of a city and then are repelled?  The people in the city reinforce the walls!  They make them stronger so that the next time the invaders come they won't be able to break through the same way.  Your mind does the same thing!"  She reached up and lightly bopped him on the forehead.  "You aren't giving yourself enough credit, Fahrad.  And you're insulting me by suggesting that I'm stupid enough to choose a mate who's likely to snap and kill me at any moment.  Do you think Hemathion never had moments of fury?  Do you think _I_ don't?  We are black dragons.  That is the reality we live in.  It doesn't mean we should just give up and not seize what happiness we can."  She backed away from him, breathing heavily, red eyes narrowed to angry slits.

"Not everyone deserves happiness!" he snapped.

She shook her head.  "Hating yourself isn't going to bring your brothers back."

"I know that!  There's no way to undo what I did.   All I can do is make sure that I never hurt another dragon, ever again."

Her expression softened.  "You're hurting _yourself_."

"I...what?"

"You're denying yourself so much, and you don't have to."

She looked at him with such pity that he had to swallow before he spoke to prevent his voice from wavering.  "I should never have come here.   I don't know what I was thinking.  Another moment of weakness."  He turned to leave.

"Fahrad," she scolded.  "Don't be like that."

He did not reply verbally, but the fact that he hurried outside and immediately flew away said all that needed to be said.

 

* * *

 

Fahrad flew straight through the night, traversing the Burning Steppes without stopping.  The area was home to many members of the black dragonflight, and he was not eager to meet any others.  One was more than enough.

Dawn cast slippery golden shadows over the surface of Lake Everstill as Fahrad descended to land.  The human residents of the Redridge Mountains were accustomed to seeing black dragons, but such meetings never ended without bloodshed.   He shrank and shifted into his human form, checked the sharpness of his daggers, and continued on foot through the hilly forestlands to the east of the village of Lakeshire. 

The bandit leader he was supposed to assassinate had last been spotted in this area, but after spending the entire day on reconnaissance Fahrad had only seen gnolls and murlocs.  He slept fitfully in a rock crevice that was not even large enough to be properly called a cave.

After another full day of fruitless searching he admitted to himself that the trail was cold and headed into town to ask the locals if anyone had seen his target.  Somewhere in the back of his mind he also considered finding a brothel for some mindless relief from the urges that had plagued him since setting eyes on Nyxondra.  A nameless human was a poor substitute for her beauty, but it was the safer and saner option.

No one in Lakeshire gave him a second glance except to invite him to browse the wares for sale.  One leatherworker had his goods displayed proudly on wooden racks, and when he noticed Fahrad's leather armor he made a point to get his attention.

"Good day, sir!  Might I interest you in some new armor?  The finest leather in all of Redridge!"

Fahrad turned to look, planning to ask the merchant for information about the bandit leader.  He froze in his tracks.  Hanging on a rack just to the right of the smiling human was a breastplate made of dragonscales.  Judging by the size and color of the scales, they could only have come from black whelps.

A mixture of fury and nausea washed over him and it took all his self-control not to disembowel the man right then and there.  Instead he gritted his teeth and shook his head.  As he walked away the Old Gods encouraged him to give in to his instincts.

_Kill him, slice him to ribbons, make a coat from_ his _flayed flesh!_ they whispered.

_Doing so wouldn't stop the trade in dragonscales,_ he replied, although his fingers closed around the hilt of one of his daggers.

_ Take your true form!  Burn this town to ash! _

_I can't very well ask them for leads if they're busy burning to death,_ Fahrad replied dryly.

_ All must perish!  Bones will litter the ground like falling leaves! _

_Yeah, yeah, keep dreaming._   Ironically, the effort of forcing back the Old Gods' will distracted him so much that he nearly forgot about the leatherworker's gruesome wares.  He took a deep, steadying breath and headed into the tavern.

The bartender greeted him with a friendly nod.  Fahrad hopped onto a stool, flipped a coin onto the bar, and muttered "beer."  The mustachioed bartender had a frothy mug in front of him within thirty seconds.

He sipped slowly, his sharp ears taking in all of the many conversations that were taking place in the crowded tavern.

The gnomish couple nearest to him was discussing a romantic breakup recently suffered by one of them.

She thinks her heart hurts now?  Wait until you pull it, still beating, from her chest! snarled the Old Gods.  Fahrad ignored them.

 A dwarf and a human by the window were swapping stories about long-ago battles.

Pity, to have survived through such dangers only to fall to your blades now, hissed the whispers.  Fahrad simply took another drink.

Two more humans in front of the fireplace were planning the next leg of their journey.

Their travels end here, the voices said ominously.

A barmaid was enduring bawdy jokes from a drunken dwarf.

Kill them both, the Old Gods ordered.

No, Fahrad replied curtly.  I'm rather enjoying this drink.  Besides, that dwarf seems like the type who could give me directions to the nearest brothel. 

A human woman and a night elf male were standing near the door, having a theological discussion about the Holy Light.

The Light is an illusion, scoffed the whispers.  There is only the deep, silent dark...closing in around this world.  Twilight comes...

It's the middle of the afternoon, you idiots.  Not that you'd know, being trapped so far underground.  The voices faded for the moment, and he drained the rest of his mug as he tried to calm himself.  Despite the Old Gods' interruptions, he had heard enough of the conversations in the tavern to realize that no one was saying anything relevant to his search for the bandit leader.  He would have to ask a few questions, then.

He turned around and let his eyes wander over the crowd, wondering who was the most likely to know about local criminals.

Before he could decide, the word "dragon" reached his ears from somewhere near the stairs to the second floor.  His head snapped around to focus in on the conversation between a teenaged human and a gray-bearded dwarf.

"I heard she was bigger than this whole building," said the human.

"Aye, she was," the dwarf said.  "All the more reason to be glad she's not going to be burnin' our villages and eatin' our livestock anymore."

"I've never seen a full-grown dragon before," the human said wistfully.  "Just those pesky whelps outside of town."

"Pesky whelps grow into big dragons, if ye let them live long enough," the dwarf teased.

"Ugh, no thanks.  The pint-sized ones cause enough trouble.  My brother still hasn't grown back all the hair he lost after getting scorched by one last summer!"

The dwarf roared with laugher.  "Well, Thelsamar is a safer place without that monster around, that's for sure."

Fahrad abandoned his empty mug and slipped through the throng to approach them.  "Excuse me, did you say something about a dragon in Loch Modan?"

"Aye," the dwarf said with a grin.  "Big ol' lady-dragon had been terrorizing Thelsamar, making off with rams an' other livestock.   Some o' the rifle corps from Ironforge had to be called in, but they got 'er yesterday!"

Fahrad was unable to fake a smile.  Cold dread swept over him.  It couldn't be Nyxondra.  True, she had mentioned occasional hunting trips into Loch Modan, but surely she didn't venture that far north often enough to be considered "terrorizing" the dwarven population.

Still, there weren't that many adult female dragons around the area, and without a brood to watch over she was free to wander more.  If...

He bolted for the door and sprinted down the street.  As soon as he was far enough away from town to avoid being spotted, he shifted back into his true body and took off into the sky.

_It can't be Nyxondra,_ he kept repeating to himself as his huge wings swallowed the miles.  _I refuse to believe that I will never see those amazing eyes again, or hear her voice...  If only I had stayed with her!   Why didn't I?  I wanted to.  She wanted me to.  I've been such a fool!  She was right; I've been denying myself too much.  My brothers would want me to be happy, wouldn't they?_

Fahrad's wings and shoulders burned from the exertion but he did not slow down.  The ashen terrain of the Burning Steppes passed by, and the rusty ridge of mountains marking the start of the Badlands loomed in front of him.  He was beyond fatigue by now yet kept on, even picking up speed as he neared Nyxondra's home.

By the time he reached the plateau where her lair's entrance was, he was dizzy with exhaustion.  He made a clumsy landing, skidding in the red dust and tumbling over his own limbs.  Every muscle in his body screamed at him to rest, but he shifted into his less-fatigued human form instead and rushed toward the cave entrance.

"Nyx--" he began to call out, but he didn't have enough air in his lungs to project his voice.  He stopped, swallowed, took a deep breath, and tried again.  "Nyxondra!  Are you there?  Nyxondra?"

A few seconds passed that felt more like hours.  Then, from deep inside the cavern, "Who's there?  Is that you, Fahrad?"

"Nyxondra!"

The sound of her wings flapping filled the stone passageway, and she soon arrived looking perfectly healthy.  "What's the matter?" she asked, red eyes wide with alarm at the sight of him.

He stood in stunned silence for a moment, limbs trembling.  "Oh, thank the Titans!"  He took a step toward her before collapsing in the dust.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter Nyxondra gives a first-hand account of what Deathwing did to Sintharia/Sinestra. If the themes of rape and domestic abuse are especially upsetting for you, after she confesses her parents’ identity do a Ctrl-F search for the words “You are my family” and it’ll skip past that part. All you really need to know to follow the rest of this story is that Nyxondra overheard her mother’s assault as a whelp, and that’s the main reason why she wants nothing to do with the rest of her family.

 

Fahrad slowly became aware of two facts:  he was lying on a hard surface made barely tolerable by a few pillows under his head and shoulders, and something pleasantly warm was touching the entire left side of his body.  He blinked his eyes open and found himself in a rock chamber somewhere in Nyxondra's lair.  The warmth was explained by the presence of what appeared to be a human woman snuggled up beside him.  

Her long, layered, black hair framed a regal face with skin the color of dark mahogany.  She wore a sleeveless gown of yellow-gold silk with a jeweled sash around her shapely waist.  She had been dozing but awoke immediately when he stirred.   If there had been any doubt about her identity the scarlet eyes banished it.

"Nyxondra?" he said groggily.

"Yes," she said with a shy smile.  "You passed out while in human form so I thought it would only be polite to match you."

Fahrad sat up, pushing aside the velvet pillows from behind him.  "How long was I out?"

She gave an unconcerned glance around the cavern but there was no sunlight filtering through to aid in telling time.  Glowing lava and magical braziers illuminated the lair.  "A few hours," she said.  "What in the world possessed you to almost kill yourself flying back here in such a rush?"

He rubbed his eyes, embarrassed to look at her while he explained.  "I heard a dwarf talking about a female wyrm who was killed at Thelsamar.  I thought maybe it was you, and...  I guess I panicked."

She looked flattered.  "Oh, Fahrad..."

He turned to look at her, and without realizing it his hands came to rest on her shoulders.  "The thought of never seeing you again was...not a happy one.  Nyxondra, I shouldn't have stormed out of here the other day like I did.  I'm just so used to keeping my distance from everyone, especially fellow dragons..."  He bowed his head to break eye contact but held her shoulders tighter.  "Damn it, I'm afraid, all right?  I do care about you, Nyx.  Ever since I met you I haven't been able to stop thinking about you.  You're everything I'd want in a mate:  you're smart, you're kind, you're strong, you're gorgeous..."

She gave a nervous giggle.

"And I'm absolutely terrified of hurting you.  After what happened to my brothers, I can't trust myself.  If anything happened to you..."

She lifted a hand and placed it on his cheek, and he looked up at her in surprise.  "I'm capable of defending myself," she said with a smirk.  "And I don't relish the thought of someday snapping and hurting _you_ , either.  But that day may never come.  Just think of all the good times we'd be missing out on if we never even tried."

"You're really willing to take a chance on me?" he asked, his scratchy voice barely above a whisper. 

"If you're willing to take a chance on _me_ ," she said, leaning closer.

"I think..."  He slipped one arm around her back and pulled her against his chest.  "You could make me happy, Nyxondra."

Her overjoyed grin made his insides do a sudden somersault.   "I _know_ you can make me happy, Fahrad."

She barely said his name before he claimed her mouth in a kiss.  She made a pleased noise and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.  Their breathing quickened as their kisses grew hungrier, and she allowed him to ease her onto her back.  He straddled her with his legs, running his hands through her hair and down her neck as he probed her mouth with his tongue.

She ran her hands across his chest until she found the clasp that held his leather armor together and wiggled it loose.  Lips still locked to hers, he shrugged out of his tunic and flung it aside without regard to where it landed.   He tried to return the favor with the buttons along the front of her dress but found it too difficult to do blindly, and had to stop kissing her long enough to study the tiny gold discs.  She guided his fingers to undo each one, exposing a bit more of her dark brown skin with each button that released. 

As his hands brushed across her breasts, followed by his lips, she moaned and slipped one arm out of her dress.

"Nyxondra, wait," Fahrad said suddenly, although his body language said quite the opposite.  "I...  I've never done this with another dragon before."  He leaned back and regarded her with eyes that shone with a mixture of lust and uncertainty.

She sat up and gave an understanding smile.  "So I assumed.  It's fine; we can stay like this the first time if you're more comfortable."  She lightly ran a finger down his neck and across his collarbone.

He shivered pleasantly.  "B-but you want eggs."   Her hands grazed down his bare chest and tugged at the waistband of his dark gray pants.  "You won't get any if we...oh my...  If we do it in these forms."

She nuzzled her nose against the side of his neck as her hands explored lower.  "I know.  It's all right.  This isn't about that."  Her warm breath against his skin--so much warmer than a human's but so _right_ \--made him gasp.

"Then what...is it...about?" he panted.

She slipped out of the rest of her garments, letting the rich yellow fabric flutter to the ground behind her.  "This is about two very lonely dragons making each other happy.  This is about me..."  She kissed him again.  "And you..."  Another kiss.  "...enjoying ourselves."

His doubts evaporated as instinct took over.  He slid down onto his back and then pulled her on top of him.  "Oh, Nyxondra...  You have no idea how much I want you."

"You have me," she whispered before catching his mouth in an even more fervent kiss.

His hands moved over her body with a will of their own, and sounds emerged from her like none he had ever heard before.  They rolled over together, lost completely in the moment.  Their only thoughts were to get closer, closer, ever closer, until they merged into one.

Time seemed frozen and Fahrad found himself wondering what in the world he had been thinking by delaying this so long.  He could have had Nyxondra like this years ago, if not for his own fear and stubbornness.  Yet as she trembled in his arms, responding perfectly to every movement he made, he couldn't imagine anything feeling better, or more natural.

When their passions were spent, they lay together in a daze, reluctant for the magic to end.  Nyxondra sighed in contentment and snuggled closer with her head on his shoulder.  "I trust it was worth the wait," she teased, swirling a finger across his chest.

He made an incoherent noise of agreement, and she giggled as he gathered her in his arms and kissed her forehead.  "Thank you, Nyx," he mumbled.

"Mmm, I should be thanking you," she said dreamily.

"I meant, thank you forcing me to enjoy myself."

"I don't remember forcing you to do anything.  You seemed an enthusiastic participant," she said slyly.

"You know what I mean."

"Mmm hmm."  She closed her eyes and tucked her head under his chin.

They sank into each other and were soon fast asleep.

 

* * *

 

Morning found Fahrad and Nyxondra still curled up together, though not as closely entwined.  It seemed she preferred to sleep on her side while he stayed on his back.  He winced the first time he tried to move; his human body wasn't well-suited for sleeping on cave floors.  He sat up slowly, stretching his back with a grimace of pain.

It was then that he remembered where he was and why he wasn't wearing any clothes.  His head snapped around to look at Nyxondra, who was still sleeping.  She was clutching one of the small velvet pillows, her layered black hair tangled in a wave across her shoulders.

A smile crept onto Fahrad's face as he watched her breathe.   By all the gods and Titans, he loved her.  Giving himself over to someone so completely was a terrible risk, but at that moment it seemed worth any price.  He leaned over and planted a tender kiss on her cheek.  "Good morning, Nyx," he said, regretting how gravelly his voice sounded first thing in the morning.

Far from being startled, however, she broke into a wide grin when she opened her eyes to see him looming over her.  "Morning, Fahrad," she said, rolling onto her back.  "Sleep well?"

"Better than I have in a very long time," he said, matching her smile.

"Good."  She sat up and slipped into his arms.   She fit there as if destiny had shaped her just for him.  "I'm glad you didn't change your mind and leave in the middle of the night."

He chuckled and squeezed her tighter.  "It's too late for that.  You've got me snared like a fly in a spider's web."

"You sound rather happy about it, though."  She drew back and gave him a crooked smirk. 

"Couldn't be happier," he muttered, putting one hand on the back of her head to guide her into a kiss.

She responded eagerly, and he was able to convince himself, at least for the moment, that no whispers plagued his mind.  There was no ghostly suggestion deep in his head reminding him how easily he could kill her.  No, that was absurd.  He refused to let _them_ poison his happiness.

 

* * *

 

The next two weeks were a whirl of bliss.  Nyxondra showed Fahrad all her favorite hunting spots, and working as a team they caught more than enough food to bring a surplus back to the lair.  With a supply of fresh meat on hand, some days they never left the cavern at all, preferring to spend their time in...other ways.

They made love in their mortal forms twice more before finally mating in their true bodies.  The betrothal flight was awkward in the best way possible, over too soon but unlocking the door to a world he had never dared to dream of before.   It only improved with frequent practice.

The small community of black dragons in the area took notice of the new resident, of course.  None approached for an introduction, however.   Nyxondra assured him they weren't being unfriendly.  They just tried to keep to themselves to reduce the chance of conflict.  They trusted her judgment, and if she had welcomed a new mate into her lair, that was all the others needed to know.

 

* * *

 

Nyxondra lay on her side with her back pressed against Fahrad.   His scaled head was resting on her shoulder, his arms wrapped around her, his tail entwined with hers.  Shortly before dawn she had awoken with a nightmare, and his attempts to take her mind off it eventually resulted in a leisurely, tender round of lovemaking.  They fell back into undisturbed slumber for a few more hours, until the time came when they would normally awake.

Now she stirred, rubbing her eyes as she remembered all that had happened overnight.  She turned to face her mate, nuzzling her cheek against his.   "Morning, my love," she said softly.

Fahrad's eyes opened a fraction, then shut again as he hugged her tighter to his chest.  "Morning, Nyx," he mumbled.  "Sleep okay after...that?"

She made an affirmative noise.

"Good.  Anything you want to talk about?  Or just the usual N'zoth-fueled nightmares?"

"No, it wasn't them this time," she said, drawing back to regard him with a troubled frown.  "At least, not directly.  And it was more memory than nightmare."

He caressed her cheek and neck reassuringly.

"Fahrad, what were your parents like?"

He looked momentarily confused by the apparent change of topic, but considered for a few seconds and answered.  "My father, Searinox, is the son of one of the original black dragons blessed by the Titans.  He's fierce, proud, strong...aloof at times, but I blame the whispers.  His territory in Alterac is the only safe haven for black dragons north of the Thandol Span.  My mother wasn't his prime consort, but she was a strong, agile wyrm, well-liked by everyone.  She was a very skilled hunter.  I've never seen anyone track and kill a yeti like she did."  A nostalgic smile crossed his face.

Nyxondra listened intently.  "They never hurt you...or each other?"

"What?  No, no.  They had their moments, as we all do, but never anything serious that I knew of.  In fact, my mother was so afraid that she'd lose control if she was forced to spill draconic blood that she couldn't get herself to put down berserk hatchlings.  Made my father come and do it."

She gave an understanding nod.  "I see."

Fahrad sat up and stretched, giving her a moment to ponder what he had said.

She scooted back to lean against the cave wall, as if too weary to truly get up yet.  "Fahrad, I...  I haven't been completely honest with you," she said quietly.

He turned to look at her with a worried frown, but his rogue instincts did not sense any danger.  "Oh?"

She studied her front claws with a troubled expression.   "I haven't lied, exactly, but I was afraid if you knew the whole truth you might not want me as your mate.  I've been rejected before, and I can't really blame them for not wanting to get involved.  You see, I...  I'm the daughter of Sintharia and Neltharion."

Fahrad froze in place, wondering if he had heard her correctly.   "Neltharion?  As in...?"

"Deathwing, yes," she said with a mixture of revulsion and apology.  "But I haven't spoken to him since the Sundering.   I _hate_ him."  She bowed her head and hugged herself as if struck by a chill.  "You asked if I had tried to find another mate.  There aren't many candidates around, and the few I approached wanted nothing to do with me for fear of falling out of favor with my father.  The lower-ranking members of the flight flock to Nefarian and Onyxia, hoping for power and prestige.  They would gain nothing by stooping to consort with _me_."

Fahrad edged closer and took her in his arms.   "Nothing?  You mean _everything._   I love you, Nyx.  I don't care about your past.  I want nothing to do with the Destroyer.  If being with you makes him less likely to summon me for a task, then it's a win-win, as far as I'm concerned."

"You mean you're not angry?" she asked, nearly cringing even as he hugged her fervently.

"No," he said immediately.  "You're still the same Nyxondra I love."

She slumped in relief.  "I'm sorry I didn't tell you before.  It's just...I try not to think about it.  I want nothing to do with him, or my brothers and sisters.  They're all too far gone, and..."  Her voice trailed off as she relaxed in his embrace.

"I understand," he said, patting her back.

She drew back and forced herself to maintain eye contact.   "There's more.  It's not only the fact that my father is mad.  I...   I witnessed something.  Something terrible."  She closed her eyes and swallowed.  "You have heard the tales, I'm sure, of how Deathwing killed anyone he mated with after his transformation.  Everyone except my mother."

"Oh gods, Nyx, you don't mean...?"

"I was about two and a half years old.  Not the youngest generation of hatchlings in the lair, but not old enough to be on my own yet, either.  Father had been away for many days, which wasn't unusual.  He had been in such a foul mood, we were actually relieved to be rid of him for awhile.  Little did we know..."  She shivered, and Fahrad put a comforting paw on her arm.   

"It was the middle of the night.  I woke up with a stomachache.  I managed to disentangle myself from the pile of my sleeping clutchmates and flew out of the lair to visit the dung pile.  Before I was done there, I saw a strange light in the sky.  At first I was afraid it was another demon attack, but I knew they had green fire, and this was orange and red.  Then I thought it might be a comet, but it was moving too quickly, and heading right for the lair.  When it got closer, I realized it was my father, but he had...changed.  His body was breaking apart, oozing molten rock from the seams, steaming in the night air."

Fahrad let her talk, slowly rubbing her arm and shoulder.

Nyxondra continued, her gaze distant and unfocused.   "He didn't even notice me there.  It was dark and I was still awfully small, compared to him...  He flew straight into the lair, and I figured he went to visit Mother.  He was usually eager to...be alone with her...after being away like that.  And I was right, but..."  She shuddered, and Fahrad gently bumped his nose against hers.  This coaxed a small, sad smile from her.

"I was going back to the sleeping cave, but before I reached it I heard my parents arguing.  I can still remember every word.  Mother was saying, 'What have you done to yourself?' and Father kept rambling about the Dragon Soul, and how the other Aspects couldn't be trusted anymore.  It didn't make sense to me then.  Mother was frightened, and wanted him to seek out a healer.  He insisted everything was under control, and yelled at her for defying his authority.  He never talked to her like that before.  He was the Aspect, yes, but he never used that as leverage to manipulate his family."  

Nyxondra paused to swallow nervously.  "I shouldn't have gone snooping, but I was worried about him, too.  He looked injured, to me, with all that lava coming out."  She shook her head, mocking what she saw as her own youthful foolishness.  "I sneaked closer to their cave to listen, and I heard Mother say, 'What are you doing?  You can't seriously be in the mood for--'  And then she cried out, in surprise or pain, I'm not sure.  She kept telling him to stop, to think about what he was doing, to be careful...  I was frozen in place, too scared to move.   I heard my father order her to lie still, and then...she screamed.

"Oh Titans, that scream.  I can still hear it just as clearly as I did that night.  I wouldn't be surprised if they heard it in Silithus.  There was so much wrapped into it:  searing pain, fear, disbelief, and, perhaps most of all...betrayal.  My father had never hurt her.  Never.  He loved her.  Respected her.  Adored her...  And then...it was all gone in an instant."   She blinked back angry tears, still not making eye contact with Fahrad.

"There were more noises after that, roars and screams and other things, but it's all blurred together now.  I bolted back to the sleeping cave and hid in a crevice on the back wall, as far from my parents as I could get.  A few of my siblings stirred from all the noise, but none of them realized what was happening.  They just went back to sleep."  She snorted.  "Lucky."

"Nyx," Fahrad breathed, grasping her paws tightly in his own.  "I had no idea."

"Father left again as soon as...it was over.  Once I was certain he was gone, I decided to go check on my mother.  But I couldn't move.   I was so scared.  I just kept shaking, and every time I stretched my wings it was like I'd forgotten how to fly."  She took a steadying breath, speaking faster to bring the tale to an end that much sooner.  "It was the longest night of my life.  I expected Father to return at any moment to kill us all.  I wondered if Mother was dead, and I was furious at myself for my own cowardice.   Finally, dawn came.  Mother must have contacted some of our older siblings for help, because a group of drakes showed up to watch over the brood."  She closed her eyes, remembering.  

"I only saw my mother once after that.  She came to the entrance of the cave where we were all huddled, confused and afraid.  The burns, the welts, the claw marks, glowing hot..."  Nyxondra shivered.  "She could barely stand.  She was twitching from the pain.  And her eyes...she was broken in every way.  I was able to move then, flying close enough to see...more than I wanted.  'Mother,' I said, 'Are you all right?'"  Nyxondra gave a short, bitter laugh.  "Can you imagine?  What a stupid thing to say."

Fahrad made a sympathetic noise and stroked her cheek.

"Of course she wasn't all right.  She barely glanced at me, just looked  around wildly, breathing so fast...  She opened her mouth like she wanted to say something, but changed her mind and fled from the lair."  

The worst of her story was over, and Nyxondra gave a deep sigh, crunching her eyes shut to hold back her tears.  "That was the last time I saw her:  ten thousand years ago.  I have heard from reliable sources that she still lives...and still burns.  Father's other consorts had their suffering end much sooner.  Basaltia, Pyroclastia...  They _died_ from his molten 'affections.'"  Anger swelled her chest, and she finally looked up at Fahrad.

"He ceased to be my father that night.  I don't know or care what he is now.  Nefarian and my other siblings have tried to convince me that he regained some of his sanity after the Sundering, that he's _sorry_ for what happened.  Ha!  'Sorry' doesn't heal my mother, or bring his other consorts back to life!  Onyxia kept asking me to give him a second chance, Sabellian told me I was being too stubborn, and even little Obsidia wanted me to keep in contact with him.  Never!  I will see the other side of the sky before I go anywhere near that monster again."

"Do your brothers and sisters know what you witnessed?"

"I told them.  I don't know if they don't believe me, or simply choose to ignore it.  Obsidia slept through all of it, and the others had long since gone off on their own, being older."

Fahrad had tried to give her space to tell her recollections, but the pained, haunted look on her face made it impossible to hold back any longer.  He tenderly drew her into a tight embrace, swaying slightly as he murmured comforting words in her ear.

The tears came immediately, and he held her snugly as she sobbed into his shoulder.  She did not wallow in her emotion long, however.   Soon she pulled away from him and wiped her cheeks dry with the backs of her paws, scowling at herself for falling apart.

"So you see why I don't flaunt my status as the Aspect's daughter," she said.  "I haven't spoken to my father in ten millenia, and my siblings only a handful of times.  And that is how it will stay, if I have any choice in the matter."  Her expression softened as she turned to rub her snout against his cheek.  "You are my family, now."

Fahrad flicked his tongue across her cheek and wrapped his arms around her again.  She sank into him with a shuddering sigh and finally began to relax.

"It's okay, Nyx," he said quietly, stroking her back.   "You never have to speak a word about it again if you don't want to.  I understand.  But nothing you can say will ever change how much I love you."

"Oh, Fahrad."  She snuggled against him, laying her head on his shoulder.  "I love you, too."

 

* * *

 

A full month together did nothing to dull their passion.   Night had fallen outside but sleep was not on the two dragons' agenda.  They had already mated once that day, and were now enjoying some leftover coyote meat to regain their energy for a repeat performance.

With no schedule to keep, they took their time enjoying the food and talking.   Self-conscious about his scratchy voice and unwilling to get close to anyone, Fahrad had always considered himself a quiet person.  Nyxondra had drawn him out of his shell, however, and he could easily spend hours conversing with her without even realizing how much time had passed.

At the moment he was entertaining her with a slightly-embellished tale about tracking a murderous orc through the forests of Silverpine.   "It was raining so hard I could barely see ten feet in front of me," he said, encouraged by the rapt attention she was giving him.  "But I knew that green-skinned bastard had to be close.  There were worg droppings on the road--fresh ones.  Then, I saw him!"  He made a dramatic gesture.  "He was the biggest, ugliest orc I'd ever seen, silhouetted against a fallen tree.  His mount was exhausted, and he was lashing its haunches, cursing at it to get moving again."

"What did you do?" Nyxondra asked.  She gazed up at him with an eager expression, her tail swishing slowly back and forth.

"I drew my daggers," he said, brandishing a shard of coyote bone in his paw, "hoping the rain hadn't washed off the poison.  I crept closer, wanting to take him by surprise, but the ground was muddy and my foot slipped."

"Oh no!" Nyxondra gasped.  Whether she was humoring him with her exaggerated enthusiasm or was genuinely that fascinated with his tale, he wasn't sure.  He didn't care, as long as he got to see that smile.

"The orc heard me, and I don't know if he knew I was a bounty hunter, or just thought I was an Alliance scout, but he was on me before I could get my footing again.  His axe came _this close_ to taking my right hand off."

Nyxondra looked appropriately appalled.

"I rolled to the side just in time, but then his worg joined the attack.  I could feel its fangs piercing my boot and I knew I had to act fast if I wanted to live.  I took a deep breath..."  He did so, then exhaled a burst of flame safely into empty air.

"You didn't!" she said with delight.

"I did.  They were too wet to combust right away, but let me tell you, singed worg fur does _not_ smell good."

She giggled.

"It was enough of a distraction that I was able to put a little distance between them and me.  I circled back around through the shadows, and jumped on the orc from behind.  It was the first orc I'd ever fought so I wasn't prepared for how tough it was to cut through the muscle in his neck.  He threw me off, and the worg grabbed my arm."  He demonstrated, using his right paw as the worg's mouth to chomp down on his left forearm.  "Now, I had cut the orc pretty deeply, so I was hoping there was enough poison on my blade to do him in, but it didn't take effect right away.  I slashed open the worg's throat and kicked it off me, but at the same time the orc was charging at me with his axe whirling over his head, screaming like a demon."

She shivered in suspense.

"And the whole time, the damned Old Gods were chanting in my head, ' _Kill, kill, maim, flay, slay!'_ I was like, 'What the hell do you think I'm trying to do, you idiots?'"

Nyxondra could not suppress another giggle despite the sensitive subject matter.  She was all too familiar with the Old Gods' one-track minds.

"So I scrambled to my feet, ready to dodge his charge, daggers at the ready--"  He paused for effect.  "And two seconds before the orc could reach me, he fell flat on his face in the mud, deader than a butcher's daily special.  The poison picked a fine time to kick in."

Nyxondra grinned.  "Pretty lucky!"

He nodded.  "I ended up with a fever from the worg bites, but nothing serious enough to keep me from marching straight to town for my reward.  I earned that bounty, let me tell you."

Her smile faded into a troubled expression.  "You could have easily been killed, though.  Why not use your true form to fight such battles?  There was no one around to see except the orc, and he did not live to tell the tale."

Fahrad brushed aside the coyote bones and shrugged.   "The whispers are easier to ignore as a human.  And there's less chance that I'll do something I'll regret if I, um, have a _lapse_ when I'm in a weaker form."

She scooted forward and nuzzled her nose against his.  He returned the comforting gesture, then gave her an affectionate flick of his tongue across her cheek.

"You are a very clever, resourceful dragon, Fahrad," she mused.  "I can't wait to see what our whelps will be like."

"Hopefully they'll have your good looks," he teased, brushing a paw across her shoulder and down her arm.

"We'll find out in a couple months," she said nonchalantly, then waited for him to react.

"A couple...  You mean you're already...?"

She laughed happily and touched her nose to his again.   "I'm not completely certain yet, but I think so.  It shouldn't be too surprising, considering how often we've been mating."

He looked away and coughed in a sudden flare of embarrassment.   "Well, true, but...  That's what you wanted, right?"

She turned to face the same direction as he was and laid down beside him.  "Yes, it was.  It is.  But what about you?  What do you want, Fahrad?"

He stretched out and wrapped his limbs around her, content for the moment just to hold her close.  "I want you to be happy, and safe.  And I want the same for our children."

She made a pleased noise and let her paws roam over him, lazily exploring the body he had been reluctant to use for so long.  "I love you," she murmured, and her breath against his neck made him quiver in anticipation.

"I love you too, Nyx."

They had made love shyly, frantically, sleepily, aggressively, and playfully, but never with the tender reverence that overtook them now.  They took their time, savoring each touch, each breath, as if they might never have the chance again.  She trembled around him, and he relished every one of her soft gasps.  They soared to the peak together, then spiraled slowly back into reality and exhaustion.

Tingling with languid heat, Fahrad held Nyxondra snugly against his chest as sleep dragged him down.  He had never been happier or more at peace in his life.

 

* * *

 

_ She is sleeping.  You could slay her now. _

Fahrad's eyes shot open and he froze in place, not even daring to exhale.

_ Feel her heart beat...beat...beat...  Such an annoyance.  You could make it stop.  One slice of your claws...  You know the right places to strike. _

He jerked away from Nyxondra as if repelled by a magnet, and she awoke immediately to regard him with confusion from under half-closed eyelids.

"Fahrad?" she mumbled, rubbing her eyes.   "What's the matter?"

_ Silence her!  She is making you weak!  She is only using you!  She will betray you! _

He turned his back to her and clutched his head, doubling over with a strangled cry.  "Shut up!"

"Fahrad?"  She sat up and placed one paw on his back.  He jumped and edged away from her.

"Don't touch me," he rasped.

She was careful not to as she came to sit beside him.   "Fahrad, my love, what's wrong?"

"Stay away!" he snarled with such vehemence that she backed up.  Remorse felt like a lead weight in his stomach as soon as he saw her stricken expression.  "I hear them," he explained, sounding pained.

_ She is not to be trusted.  She wants to control you.   Kill her now before it's too late. _

He dug his claws into the rocky floor of the cave and arched his back as a roar of frustration exploded from his throat.  He bellowed so loudly that Nyxondra flinched and covered her ears.  He drew out the sound as long as the air in his lungs would allow, drowning out the voices in his head as well as his mate's attempts to calm him.

At last he slumped onto his stomach and closed his eyes, shuddering with deep breaths.  He felt like crying, vomiting, fleeing, dying, anything but facing Nyxondra.

"Fahrad?"  Her voice was timid, the touch on his shoulder hesitant.  "Are they gone?"

"They're never gone," he wheezed.  "That's why I warned you, why I didn't want to..."  He shivered despite the warmth of the cave.  "They were telling me horrible things...  Things about you, things I should do to you.  Nyx, I'm so sorry.  I can't..."

"It's all right," she said, draping herself across his shoulders to rest her head next to his.  "You resisted.  Nothing happened."

"It could have.  This is how it starts."

"Fahrad, please--" she began, but he got to his feet and walked out of her grasp.

"I'm sorry, Nyx, I just...I need some fresh air.  I feel sick."  He slipped out of the smaller chamber in which they slept and spread his wings to fly out of the lair.

 

* * *

 

Nyxondra lay awake for nearly an hour, waiting for him to return.   She dozed lightly for a few short periods, but kept waking up with a surge of worry.  Finally, she frowned in determination and shook out her wings to follow him.

She did not have to go far.  A large, black shape took up the far end of the plateau outside the lair's entrance.  She tread lightly, not wanting to startle him.

Fahrad was curled into a ball like a frightened whelpling, eyes tightly shut.

She said his name quietly but there was no response.  She stepped closer and nudged him with her forehead.

He awoke with a gasp, snorting smoke.

"Fahrad, please come inside," she said, reaching out to steady him.

He leaned away from her touch.  "It's safer this way.  I'm fine."

"Don't be stupid," she said crossly.

"It's not stupid," he said, his back fin rigid in agitation.  "Don't you understand?  I'm trying to protect you!"

She straightened her posture defensively.  "Nothing happened, though!  Yes, you heard them, but you didn't _do_ anything!   They've been whispering to me, too, you know.  They said since I'm gravid I don't need you anymore, that I should kill you before you harm our eggs.  I told them they didn't have the slightest idea _what_ I needed, and to shut up."

"They'll try again."

"And I'll tell them the same thing."  She raised her chin defiantly.

Fahrad stared at her, slowly shaking his head.   "You're stronger than I am, then.  Or more foolish."

She looked down modestly and smiled.  "Perhaps a little of both."  She put a paw on his shoulder.  "Come back inside with me, Fahrad.  It's cold out here."

He sighed and seemed to be considering it.

She nuzzled her head against the side of his neck.   "Please?  I'll just stand out here and get chilled right along with you, and that might harm the eggs."

He slouched in defeat and let her lead him back into the cavern.  "I'm only coming in because the whispers haven't come back again."

She patted his back.  "That's good."

"If they do, I _will_ leave."

She shooed him into the sleeping chamber.  "Stop worrying about _if_ and just enjoy _now._ "

Fahrad laid down in his usual spot but did not relax.  If anything he looked like he was preparing to spring up and flee at any moment.

Nyxondra cuddled up beside him and gently took his paw, guiding it to rest on her abdomen.  "Feel how hard it is right there?  Those are eggs forming.  _Our_ eggs.  Our children.  Be strong for them, and for me."

He exhaled slowly and relaxed a fraction.  "I will fight it with everything I have.  I swear to you, if I lose myself, it will be because there was no possible way to avoid it."

She lightly licked his chin before laying her head on his shoulder.  "I know.  Now rest," she murmured.  "Our love is stronger than their hatred."

He closed his eyes and listened to her breathing...and only her breathing.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

If there had been any doubt about the arrival of eggs in the near future, it was soon banished.  Nyxondra grew plump and sluggish, napping frequently and fluctuating wildly from ravenous hunger to no appetite at all.

Fahrad had been doing all the hunting, but by now he was familiar enough with the area to accomplish this without any difficulty.  Crisp autumn air helped keep his head clear, so he took a longer, more indirect route on his way back to the lair with a dead ogre in each paw.  He swooped down and flew into the main cavern, flinging the ogres into the side chamber used for food storage. 

"Fahrad?  Is that you?  Come here!"

He flapped toward the sleeping chamber but soon realized she was not there.  He spotted her on the island in the middle of the lava stream, which was where she had spent most of her waking hours in the past few days, fussing over the nest.  She must have rearranged the moss, stones, soil and gravel a hundred times, trying to get it just right.  It always ended up looking the same to him, but it kept her entertained.

As he flew in that direction, however, he saw something very different this time.  Nyxondra was squatting over the nest, and beneath her raised tail he saw several dark ovals.

"Nyx, are those...?"  He rushed over.

She greeted him with a strained smile.  "Sorry I couldn't wait until you got back."

He crouched to get a closer look.  Three black eggs, still slimy and glistening, lay in the nest.  The abstract concept of fatherhood was suddenly very real, and he gave a nervous laugh.  "They're beautiful," he said, nuzzling his head against hers.

She nodded in agreement.  "Number four is close," she said, grimacing.

"Um...is there anything I can, uh, do?" he asked, shuffling his feet awkwardly.

"No," she said with a gracious smile.   "Thank you, but nature and gravity are all I need.  This is hardly my first clutch, you know."

"It is mine, though," he mumbled, eyes riveted on the nest.  "Does it hurt?"

"Not really.  It's just...uncomfortable.  Well worth it in the end, however."  She closed her eyes and bent her back limbs a bit more.  After several long, steady breaths, a fourth egg slid into the nest.

Fahrad stared, transfixed, at the miracle taking place in front of him.  For over a century he had vowed never to take a mate or sire children, and here he was with both.  The thought simultaneously thrilled and terrified him.

_Please don't let me mess this up,_ he thought.  _Please don't let this be a huge mistake._

Nyxondra straightened her legs and stood more naturally, looking tired but elated.

"Is that all of them?" he asked anxiously.

"No, but it should be a little while until the next one.  I'm going to get a drink.  I'm _so_ thirsty!"

He watched her fly across the cavern to the natural spring, wondering if she was steady enough or if he should accompany her.  She seemed fine, however, so he stooped to inspect the eggs again.  Viscous slime coated each, and subtle bumps marked where defensive spines would grow in over the next few days.

"Hi," he whispered.  "How are you doing in there?"

_Why don't you break one open and see for yourself?_ suggested a sinister whisper in the far corner of his mind.

He drew back immediately, narrowing his eyes.  _Don't start,_ he warned.

_ So defenseless...tiny hearts beating...so easy to make them stop... _

A low growl vibrated through his chest.  _They are mine, not yours.  Don't even think about it._

_Ah, but, Fahradion, your entire flight is ours.  From the mightiest wyrm, to the most fragile hatchling.  You think yours was the first voice they heard?  Fool.  We are already at work, molding their minds to our will._

He scrunched his eyes closed and gritted his teeth.  _No, no,_ no _, damn it!  Leave them alone!  Leave us all alone!  Go away!   Please!_

_Please?_ repeated the voices, sounding amused.  _Well, since you asked so politely..._

He shivered as the Old Gods' presence receded.  It never went away completely, of course, but they seemed to be done speaking for now.

Nyxondra returned from the spring and joined him beside the nest.  "It's so nice to have the nest occupied again," she said proudly.  "Of course it's always possible some may fail to hatch, but so far they look good."  She leaned against him with a happy sigh.  Then, noticing his troubled expression, she asked, "Is everything all right?"

"I was just wishing they didn't have to be born into a world with _them_ whispering in their minds," he said somberly.

"I wish that with every clutch," she said, embracing him.  "Impossible, of course, but we can't help dreaming.  I think every parent wants their children to have a better life than their own."  She winced in discomfort and backed up to the nest again.  "Number five is definitely coming," she explained.

Fahrad patiently sat with her, saying little beyond simple, repetitious words of encouragement.  A fifth egg emerged after less than ten minutes.

"Still at least one more," she said wearily, lying down on her swollen stomach for a brief rest.

"How many is normal?"

"That depends.  If I'm trying to space them out due to a long time between matings, I only have two or three per clutch.  I had no reason to delay this time, so I should have at least one or two more."

He tried not to look intimidated by the thought of that many whelps at once.

"Did you have any luck hunting?" she asked.

He had nearly forgotten, with all the excitement.   "Oh, yes, I brought back four ogres.  Do you want me to bring you one?"

"No, no," she said immediately.  "I don't feel like eating when I'm laying.  But if you're hungry, go ahead."

He was, but didn't want to miss another egg.  "Not right now," he said casually.

She gave a knowing smile and did not press the matter.

The sixth egg took its time.  Nyxondra panted and dug her claws into the ground, squatting lower over the nest, but still it refused to budge.   "Come on, little one," she said through clenched teeth.  "Don't be difficult."

_She could die if she becomes eggbound,_ the Old Gods piped up with glee.

_That's not going to happen,_ Fahrad replied with more confidence than he felt.  He slowly rubbed her back and made soothing noises.

Despite her claim that the process wasn't painful, Nyxondra was clearly in distress.

"Should we be worried about this?" he asked finally.

"Hmm?"  She had been concentrating on her breathing so intently that it took her a moment to realize what he had said.   "Oh, no," she assured him quickly.  "Sorry, I forget this is new to you.  Some are easier than others.  This one's just being a bit...stubborn."

"Oh."  He ordered himself to relax, with little success.  He wanted to pace but there wasn't room on the island in the lava and he didn't want to make her nervous.

Nyxondra bore down with a soft cry of effort, and he looked back just in time to see a sixth, and, seconds later, a seventh egg plop into the nest.

"That was two!" he exclaimed.

Nyxondra gave a gusty sigh of relief and turned around before flopping onto her stomach with her nose inches from the nest.  "That should be all of them."

Fahrad settled down beside her with an arm over her shoulders and his tail entwined with hers.  "They're perfect," he said.

"I hope so," she said, proudly gazing at the eggs.

_There is only perfection in chaos_ , the whispers hissed.

He ignored them.  "I love you, Nyxondra."

"I love you too, Fahrad," she said before quickly falling into an exhausted slumber.

As he felt her breathing turn slow and steady against him, he fought back a growing swell of fear.  It _was_ too perfect.  There was so much that could go wrong.  The eggs could fail to hatch.  They could hatch and immediately set upon each other in a blind frenzy until he had to destroy them.   Nyxondra could still have some kind of complication and fall ill.  And even if none of those things happened this time, they would have other clutches in the future.   Anything could happen, and that was discounting the danger he himself presented.

_You could smash them all with one swipe of your tail,_ the voices suggested.  _Or push them into the lava.  You could blame her, tell her she did it in her sleep..._

_Why the hell would I want to do something like that, you disgusting monsters?_   He scowled and tightened his embrace of his mate.  _I_ could _do lots of things, but I have no intention of doing so, and you can't make me._

_We can,_ they reminded him with a sinister chuckle.   _When we really want to, we can.  You know that.  Your brothers knew it all too well..._

Fahrad felt a muscle in his face twitch as fury welled up in his chest.  _Never again.  You had your fun and ruined my life.  Now go haunt somebody else!_

_Somebody else?_ they echoed  _Very well..._

Nyxondra made a frightened moan and thrashed in her sleep, her back claws scoring shallow gouges on his flank.  "No," she mumbled.   "No, don't!"

_You bastards, that's not what I meant!_ Fahrad yelled silently.

Hysterical laughter rang in his head.

"Nyx, wake up," he said, gripping her by the shoulders.  "You're having a nightmare."

"No!" she wailed, flailing in terror.

"Nyxondra, it's me, it's all right, wake up!" he said more loudly.

Her eyes snapped open and she looked around in a disoriented panic before realizing where she was.  "Oh, Fahrad," she gasped, crumpling into his arms with a deep sigh.  "I was dreaming!  It was horrible!"

He stroked her back and held her tightly.  "It's all right, Nyx.  It was just a dream."

" _They_ were making me do things," she said, voice shaking.

"Just a dream," he repeated in a soothing tone.

"This time," she whispered.

He remained silent.  There was nothing to say.  He could only keep her locked in his embrace, grateful that at least for now he could still do so.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the night passed uneventfully, and when she awoke Nyxondra was so hungry she devoured three of the four ogres.  She spent the morning bustling around the cavern, checking on the eggs every few minutes.

"They won't hatch for a few weeks, right?" Fahrad asked after the hundredth time she fussed over the nest.

"Well, no," she said sheepishly.  "I guess I'm used to having multiple clutches to tend to at once.  Sitting around waiting for one to hatch takes some getting used to."

He grinned fondly and bumped his head against hers.   "When you feel up to getting a start on the next one..."

She smirked and shook her head.  "In a few days," she said, glancing at the large eggs.  "In the meantime..."  She gave him a hopeful look of exaggerated innocence, which he knew by now meant she wanted a favor.  "Would you be a dear and go find something different to eat?  I'm dreadfully tired of ogre, coyote and mountain lion."

He made a show of reluctance, forcing her to play up her pleading expression.

"Please, Fahrad?  For me?  The mother of your children?"  Her crimson eyes grew wide and pitiful.

"Well..."

"Pretty please?"  It was all she could do to keep from laughing as she pouted and blinked sadly at him.

"I suppose, if my darling insists..."  He rubbed his nose against her cheek.

"Oh thank you!" she squealed.  "Some boars would be _divine_.  There are plenty around the loch or over into Dun Morogh."

"That's a two-day trip."

"Mmm hmm," she said with a knowing smile.   "And by the time you get back, I'll be feeling better and we can...resume other activities."  She flicked her tongue against his neck, and he shivered pleasantly.

"I'm not seeing a downside to this plan."

She giggled and walked him to the lair's entrance.   "Thank you, Fahrad.  You're such a sweetheart."

_Her heart might be sweet, too...rip open her ribcage and find out,_ the Old Gods intruded suddenly.  _Pull out her organs, one by one, and paint the walls with her blood._

He managed to avoid making any visible reaction despite the sick, sinking feeling in his gut.  "I'll be back with as many fat boars as I can carry," he said, dipping his head to her.

"And I'll be waiting with our seven beautiful eggs."

With one final cheek-to-cheek nuzzle, he launched himself into the sky and flew away without looking back.

 

* * *

 

_Blood, blood, we must have blood.  Death, death, all must die!_ chanted the voices in Fahrad's head, matching the rhythm of his wing beats.  He scowled.  It was no use telling them to shut up.  They hadn't obeyed the last dozen times he did.  Instead he tried to think about happier things, like his unhatched children.

Just as he managed to focus on that idea, the Old Gods barged through with a fresh tirade.

_ All black dragons are our servants.  Your precious young will be no different.  They will stew in their insanity, growing stronger in body and weaker in mind until they do our bidding without question! _

Not for the first time, Fahrad wished he knew what, if any, physical forms the Old Gods had, so that he could better suggest the ideal orifice for shoving their ideas and/or heads into.

Dwarven ruins rose out of the sands below, and he veered to the east.  Best to keep his distance from Thelsamar.  Besides, the hunting was better on that side of the loch, according to Nyxondra.

_She is weak,_ the voices chimed in as soon as her face crossed his mind.  _She is good only for birthing more dragons to serve us._

Fahrad ground his teeth so hard they hurt.  _Leave her alone,_ he snapped.

_Kill!  Kill, maim, destroy, desecrate, eviscerate, obliterate!_ chattered the voices.

There was no arguing with such a chaotic jumble of thoughts.   Fahrad did his best to block them out but found it more and more difficult as the miles disappeared behind him.  It was a painfully vivid reminder of why he had chosen to remain in human form for so long.  The whispers still reached him in that body, but they were more distant, muffled somehow.

He tucked in his wings and dove straight down, pulling up at the last second to avoid splattering himself on a hillside.  The instant his feet touched the ground, he shrank and shifted back into his human guise.  Gulping air, he fell to his knees and merely sat for at least a quarter hour.

He tried to focus on the insects flitting through the wildflowers, the thick clouds drifting across the sky, the shimmering expanse of water stretching to the north and west...anything, _anything_ but the voices.

_Kill, kill, kill, rip her to pieces, shred her flesh, crack her bones, annihilate her!_   They were quieter now, but no less insistent.   In fact, they seemed angered by his attempt to mute them, and he found his own temper flaring up in response.  

_ Kill.   _

_ Kill.   _

_ **Kill!** _

He got to his feet and drew his daggers, looking around wildly for a target for his sudden bloodlust.  All the wildlife had been scared off by the arrival of a large dragon, and he let out a growl of frustration.

_Kill, stab, tear, slash, slay..._   The words came with each thump of his heart, and at last he could maintain his composure no longer.   He whirled on the nearest object--a birch tree--and began attacking it with his blades.  It was pointless, absurd, likely to accomplish nothing but dulling or even chipping his weapons.  Yet he could not stop.  It was like finally scratching an itch that had been nagging him for weeks.  He laughed madly in relief, stabbing the tree again and again until chips of wood fell like snowflakes onto the ground.

_Destroy, destroy, destroy,_ the voices throbbed inside his head.

One of the daggers hit a harder streak of wood and twisted out of his hand.  He clawed at the tree with his gloved hand, instead, while frantically hacking with the remaining blade.

He was nearly hyperventillating now, sucking in shallow gasps of air that left him feeling dizzy.  His knees buckled and he slid onto the ground, slicing a furrow in the tree as he dragged his dagger down with him.

His crazed laughter turned into sobs, and he curled forward with his hands over his head.  "Stop," he cried.  "Stop, stop, just stop!"  He rocked back and forth with a keening wail.

Through it all, a gibbering cacophony of laughter bounced around his mind.

Fahrad tipped forward, flinging himself face-down on the grass, and surrendered to unconsciousness.

 

* * *

 

Cold drizzle pattered against his leather armor, and he forced his eyes to open.  He had rarely been on the losing side of a brawl before, but that's certainly what he felt like at the moment.

Fahrad stiffly sat up, wiping wet soil off his face.   At first he couldn't remember where he was, or how he had gotten there.  His reflex in such a situation was to draw his weapons in case of unknown danger, but he found his belt empty.  He squinted through the rain at a nearby tree, and went stock still as it all came rushing back.

One of his daggers shone from the grass at the foot of the birch, and the other was still jammed into the trunk.  Deep gouges were taken out of the tree, as if an enormous beaver had started to chew and then changed its mind.   Chunks of wood ranging from several-inch wedges to fine sawdust littered the ground.  A normal human would not have had the strength to mar the tree so severely with mere daggers.

But then, he was neither normal, nor a human.

Fahrad convulsed with a violent shiver that was only partly due to the damp chill.  It took a minute of pullling and wiggling to free his dagger from the tree, so deep had he driven it in his berserk frenzy.  He inspected both blades and found one chipped, one bent slightly, and both dulled beyond usefulness.

He shook his head and sheathed them anyway.  A skilled blacksmith could still salvage them, he supposed.

He dimly realized that, by all rights, he should be able to use his powers as a black dragon to shape the steel however he desired.  Yet none of his flight had used their Titan-given abilities that way in thousands of years.  His father, Searinox, had told him tales of those ancient days, before the Earth Warder fell into madness, when their kind would forge weapons, raise mountains, flatten plains and guide the course of rivers.

_Now we skulk in the shadows, afraid of the voices in our heads,_ he thought with disgust.

It was a perfectly reasonable fear, however.  Fahrad recalled his fit, staring at the mangled tree with a growing sense of dread.  He had not lost control that badly since his brothers...

His stomach lurched and he barely managed to keep from getting sick.

"No, no, never again," he muttered, kneading his forehead with shaking fingers.  Next time it could be something far more precious than a tree.

He did not even consider shifting back into a dragon.   Unsteady legs carried him along the edge of the loch, toward the dwarven town of Thelsamar.

He should have known.  The happiness he had found in the past few months was not meant to be.  Not for him.  There was a reason he had kept to himself for all those years.  He had been an utter fool to think he could have a normal life.  He didn't deserve it.

Consumed by self-loathing, he trudged on despite fatigue and cold.  As the dawn neared, the icy drizzle turned to snow that stuck to his eyebrows, beard and mustache.  Had he been an actual human, he would have been crippled by hypothermia long before he reached Thelsamar.  As it was, even his draconic blood became chilled, and pain spiked up his legs from his frozen feet.

The snow had stopped by the time he spotted the smoke rising from dwarven houses.  He staggered toward the sign of civilization, but his mind was so numbed that he didn't even respond to the mountaineer who greeted him.

"Oy, there, mister, you look like something the yeti dragged in.  Are you a'right?"

Fahrad kept putting one foot in front of the other in a daze, not even glancing at the curious dwarf.

"Hey, hey," he said, hurrying to catch up with him.   "What gives?  Yer not undead, are ye?"

Fahrad finally turned his haunted gaze upon the mountaineer.   "Let me die," he rasped before collapsing into a snowbank.

 

* * *

 

"I still say it must be a fever," came the squeaky voice of a female gnome.  "Why else would his temperature be so much above the normal range?"

"And I say it kinnae be a fever," retorted a female dwarf, "because he isn'ae sick or injured.  Ye don't just run a fever that high without showin' _some_ other symptoms!  He should be twitchin' like a beached salmon with a fever like that."

Fahrad slowly opened his eyes and found himself stretched out on a bearskin rug in front of a roaring fireplace.  Several layers of heavy, down-filled blankets lay on top of him.

"He's awake!" cried the gnome.

Two smiling faces leaned over him.  "Mornin', sleepin' beauty," the dwarf said with a wink.

"We're so glad you're not dead!" the gnome said brightly.  The dwarf gave her a disgusted look and she shrugged.   "What?  It's the truth!"

Fahrad sat up groggily, running a hand down his face.   "How long have I been here?"  His voice was even scratchier than usual, and he was relieved that they could understand him.

"Since early this mornin'," the dwarf said, offering him a mug of warm ale.

Fahrad took it, sipped it to test the taste, then chugged the whole thing.

The dwarf nodded in approval and took the empty mug back.

"And what time is it now?"  The drink helped smooth out his voice a little but he still sounded awful.

"Too late for supper, too early for bedtime," the gnome said cheerfully.

Fahrad swore under his breath and threw off the layers of blankets.  "I can't stay."

"Hold on, there, Mister I'm-Inexplicably-Warm-Despite-Almost-Freezing-To-Death!" the gnome said, planting herself in front of him with her hands on her hips.  "You're not going anywhere tonight!  You need to rest up so you don't keel over again!"

_Kill them both,_ hissed the voices.

Fahrad ignored both his hosts and the whispers as he looked around for his boots.   Spotting them by the fireplace, he forced his aching feet into the stiff leather and headed for the stairs that would, if his experience with dwarven architecture held true, lead him up to street level.

"Stop!" the gnome insisted, scurrying after him.

"Let him go," the dwarf said with a sigh.   "There's just no arguin' with some folk.  I can tell by the look in his eyes, he's got troubles that neither you nor I can mend.  Not with all the medicine in Khaz Modan."

He paused at the top of the stairs and gave her a grateful nod. 

_Kill them!_ the Old Gods insisted again.  _Tear them limb from limb.  Cut their throats.  Drain every drop of blood from their pathetic little bodies._

His hand strayed toward his belt and he actually had a chipped dagger halfway out of the sheath before he realized what he was doing and stopped himself.   His hand was slow to respond when he tried to move it away from the weapon, like he was dragging it though molasses.

_Kill kill kill kill kill..._ droned the voices.

He took a deep breath and clenched his fists.  

The gnome and dwarf looked up at him uncertainly, with just a hint of fear.

"My thanks for the hospitality," he said before disappearing out the door.

 

* * *

 

Both moons were closer to full than new, casting ample light over the fresh snow surrounding Thelsamar.  Fahrad hurried down the road until he was confident he wouldn't be seen, and shifted back into his true body.  His wings kicked up swirls of snow as he took to the air and headed back toward the Badlands.

_Yes,_ the Old Gods purred.  _Go back and slay them all!  Water the parched grasses with draconic blood!  Hurl the eggs off a cliff!  Spill your useless mate's entrails!_

What was he doing?

The heaviness in his heart dragged him down to land on a mountaintop.  Cold wind seemed to go right through him, and he hunched down beneath his wings.

_Nyxondra_ , he thought, projecting his mind out into the rocks that connected his perch and her cavern.

He didn't know if it would work.  Dragons had to be either extremely powerful, such as the Aspects, or intimately connected to be able to communicate over such distances.  He had had no reason to attempt it since his brothers' demise, but the soul-deep bond between him and his beloved should be sufficient.

_Nyxondra, please, answer me,_ he tried again.

_ Fahrad?   _

The sound of her voice was as real as if she had been standing beside him, though only he could hear it.  He smiled involuntarily, then bowed his head in resignation as the reality of the situation came crashing back down.

_ Fahrad, are you all right?  Where are you? _

_ Nyx, I'm so sorry.  Forgive me, please; I never meant for it to be this way.  I should never have tried to be something I'm not, something I can't be... _

_ Fahrad, what are you talking about?  What's the matter? _

_ It's happened again. _

_ What?  What has? _

_ They took me again, Nyx.  I'd been fighting it for days...  The things they told me to do to the eggs, and to you, oh Titans, I can't even repeat them... _

_What happened?  What did you do?_   Her voice carried an edge of panic now.

_ I lost control.  They just kept on me and on me...   Kill, kill, nothing but urges to kill, unrelenting...  When I snapped there was nothing around to slay so I...  I attacked a tree. _

_A tree?_   She sounded amused despite the gravity of the matter.

_ It was just a tree this time, but it could have been you.   It could have been our children.  I was completely out of my head.  I blacked out and when I came to my daggers were all beat to hell from hacking at that tree, and I didn't know where I was or what had happened. _

_Oh, my love,_ she said with such sympathy that he physically ached to be in her embrace.  _It's all right.  Come home and--_

_I can't, Nyx.  That's what I'm trying to tell you.   I can't come back.  I don't trust myself.  I should never have trusted myself, and you shouldn't, either._

_But, Fahrad--_

_I'm sorry.  You have no idea how much.  I love you.  I love you too much to put you in danger.  I know it's only one clutch, but at least you have the children you wanted.  I'm sorry it can't be more.  I don't want to hurt you--_

_Then come home!_ she interrupted urgently.

_\--but if I have to break your heart to protect you, then I have only one choice.  Thank you for the best months of my entire life, Nyxondra.  I love you, always.  Remember that._

_Fahrad, you can't just--_

He shot into the air, breaking contact with the earth that channeled their messages.  Only the flap of his wings and ragged breaths that he refused to admit were sobs broke the silence as he headed northward.

__

* * *

 

Fahrad flew through the night, putting as much distance between himself and the Badlands as he could.  When his weary wings could carry him no further, he dropped out of the sky and approached the town of Dun Modr in his human form.   He staggered into the inn, downed a tankard of ale without stopping for breath between gulps, and collapsed in a rented room.

Wherever he went from here, it would be on two pink legs instead of two black wings.  As far as he was concerned, he never wanted to take on his true form again.

He spent the next two days drinking himself into a stupor at the inn, which, being a dwarven establishment, had plenty of ale to accommodate him.   When his body punished him badly enough to make him quit drinking, he found himself with just enough money left to buy a new pair of daggers and some traveling rations.

The echo of the previous day's hangover made his head throb as he squinted into the early morning sunlight.  It would take a week or more to reach Hillsbrad on foot, but he knew he would be welcome back at Ravenholdt Manor despite his long absence.  The rogues there were free spirits, disappearing for months at the time and then turning up again like nothing had happened.  They believed him to be a human, and he had never done anything to sway them from that opinion.  Not asking too many questions was central to the rogue lifestyle.  It was a lonely existence but it had served him well for the last century.  It would do.

There was no spring to his step as he wandered out of Dun Modr and stopped at the crossroads.  To the north lay the great Thandol Span, the Arathi Highlands and Stromgarde.  To the south lay the swampy Wetlands, Loch Modan...and the Badlands.

Fahrad stood in the middle of the road, casting a distant gaze in that direction.  _Nyxondra_...  He rolled the syllables over and over in his mind, torturing himself with the simple beauty of her name.

How was she?  Furious, no doubt, and rightfully so.   He only hoped that in time she would come to see that he had acted for her safety alone.   It certainly wasn't because he didn't want to be with her anymore.

Their children would remain in their eggs for a couple of weeks, yet.  He could hardly bear to think of them hatching without him there to witness it.   They would ask their mother where he was, and it would be a terrible thing for her to try to explain in terms they could understand.

_Your father is a monster,_ she might say.  _He is too weak to resist the Old Gods' whispers.  If he were here, he would hurt you._

He rubbed his eyes, tempted to head back into town for one last drink before he hit the road.

_Yes, go back and slaughter everything that moves,_ the voices intruded without warning.  _Slay them all, chop off their heads and string their entrails from the rafters!_

_How about no,_ he replied, scowling.

_ Kill them!  Torture them!  Make them weep tears of blood!  Go! _

For a moment his feet started carrying him back toward the dwarven town, and his hands gripped the handles of his new daggers.  Yes, he _should_ kill them all.  It would be wonderful to hear their last breaths wheezing out of their broken bodies, and--

No.  Those were not his thoughts.  He snapped to his senses and began marching northward along the road instead.  _Nice try,_ he told the voices. _Don't you bastards ever get tired of that death and destruction stuff?  Why can't you try to force me into doing something else for a change, like, I don't know, painting a fence, or brushing burs from a horse's mane?  Something that doesn't involve murder?_

Surprisingly, the Old Gods fell silent.  Sarcasm was a bit subtle for their tastes, perhaps.

He sighed, glanced southward over his shoulder one last time, and continued on.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Long before he reached Ravenholdt, Fahrad caught wind of a large reward being offered to anyone who apprehended the leader of a smuggling operation in the Wetlands.  He headed back to the south and west, tramping through swampy ground that sucked the boots right off his feet if he walked too quickly.

_You could fly, you know..._ whispered the voices.

He wrinkled his nose and waved a cloud of gnats away from his face.  _That's a surprisingly benign suggestion, coming from you._

_The sooner you reach the coast, the sooner you can hack the limbs off those smugglers and leave them to bleed to death in the shallows.  Let the tide run red with blood!_

_That's more like it,_ he thought with a sigh.  _You pests are nothing if not predictable._

_Kill, kill, kill,_ they chanted, growing softer but not silent.

_No thanks,_ he replied tiredly.  The fading light and increasing bugs told him it was time to find a place to stop for the night, but there wasn't enough dry land in sight to even unroll a sleeping bag.  He resigned himself to going further, readjusting the straps of his backpack.  His sharp draconic senses had picked up a trace of tobacco and oil in the air, confirming the tip he'd gotten from a passing dwarf.  He could probably reach the smugglers' cove within another hour, when the cover of darkness would work to his advantage, but by then he wouldn't have the energy to safely carry out the assassination.

Energy seemed to be in short supply lately, anyway.  The heaviness in his chest refused to go away, and he didn't have his heart in his work.   What was the point of all this?  Did he actually _care_ that the legitimate merchants of Menethil Harbor were losing money because of illegal imports?   Hell no.  Did he need the reward?  Not really.  He was a _dragon_.  What use did he have for mortal currency?

Fahrad found himself questioning everything about his life, and simultaneously not caring about any of it.

A broken stump offered a relatively dry place to sit for a short rest, and he flopped down with a groan.  He could forge ahead and risk confronting his target despite his fatigue.  He could also look around for a suitable camp site and wait until morning to make his attack.

Or he could just sit there, slouched dejectedly on a rotten tree stump, getting eaten alive by flying insects and feeling sorry for himself.

How long had it been since he last saw Nyxondra?

The thought came suddenly, although she was never far from his mind.  He scowled at himself and ran a hand through his hair.

_Stop thinking about her,_ he ordered, but his brain did not obey.  At least the Old Gods were silent on the subject for the moment.

With the days he had spent moping around Dun Modr, plus his journey into Arathi before backtracking into the Wetlands, and then the days spent slogging through this Light-forsaken swamp, it had been at least two weeks.   Probably closer to three.

His children might have already hatched.  If not, it would be soon.

_Don't think about it,_ he told himself.  _Do not._

Yet he could close his eyes and see those seven black eggs just as clearly as if he were standing in front of them, and his imagination provided glimpses of what the whelplings might look like.  They could have Nyxondra's striking red eyes, and his tall head frill, or perhaps...

He shook his head harshly, grinding his teeth.  _Stop it.  Don't torture yourself._

Amused whispers echoed in his head.  _Talking to yourself, Fahradion?  Careful, someone might think you're going mad.  Next you'll be hearing voices..._

_Shut the hell up.  You're not funny,_ he thought back.

Maniacal laughter rang inside his skull, and he winced at the volume.  Sitting still was obviously not helping anything, so he got to his feet and set off again toward the west.

The whispers rambled on, but he was able to mostly tune them out by concentrating on the chittering drone of insects, hoarse croaks of frogs, and distant grunts of more dangerous creatures.  Fahrad did not fear any of the local wildlife, although he had heard tales of crocolisks four times the size of his human body.   If he crossed paths with such a beast, he would simply shift into his true form and make quick work of it.  Unless it was absolutely necessary, however, he planned to remain on two legs.

_ Papa! _

Fahrad stopped so suddenly he lost his footing and went down on one knee with a splash.

_Papa papa papa papa!_ several tiny voices chattered together.

Soaked to the waist with fetid swamp water, he nevertheless did not move a muscle.  Eyes wide, he looked all around the shadowy mire to see if there was any other explanation beside the obvious one.

_Papa, where are you?  Papa!  We're hungry!   Can you hear us, Papa?_ The young voices spoke over each other, sounding frightened.

"This is a new low, even for you," he growled aloud.

_Don't blame us,_ the Old Gods hissed.  _Noisy little nuisances, aren't they?  You should have crushed them when we told you to._

"You mean...  Oh dear Titans."  He put a trembling hand over his mouth.

_ Papa, are you there?  Mama's not here and we're scared! _

Fear gripped him as he imagined the worst.  If these were his children speaking, and Nyxondra wasn't there, what had happened to her?

_ Papa, we don't like being alone.  There are creepy voices who say mean things. _

_Children!_ came Nyxondra's voice, sharp and scolding.   _I told you, I will be back soon.  I am hunting.  Stay in the cave and do_ not _go outside._

_But we're scared,_ they whined. _Why can't Papa be here with us while you hunt?_

Fahrad hardly dared to breathe, feeling his heart pound in his chest.

After a moment, Nyxondra's voice came again, softer and gentler.  _I told you, my darlings.  Your father is fighting against the ones who make the scary voices.  You must be very brave, like he is.  I will be back soon with yummy mountain lions to eat._

_Yes, Mama,_ chorused the hatchlings.

_Your papa and I love you very much,_ she said.

_ We know, Mama.  When can we meet him? _

_ I don't know, little ones.  Someday.  Now be good.  I'll be home soon. _

_ Yes, Mama. _

Silence.

Fahrad was down on all fours in the muck, head bowed and eyes screwed tightly shut.  Hearing his children's voices was both thrilling and devastating, but what paralyzed him was the way Nyxondra spoke of him.  She called him brave, and told their children that he loved them.  She didn't condemn him as a monster or accuse him of abandoning them.

Without consciously deciding to, he began to shift into his real body.  Scales covered his skin, his face stretched into a reptilian snout, a tail appeared behind him, and wings sprouted from his back.  He arched his spine and shook his head, barely noticing that his larger form had knocked over several trees.

More than anything, he wanted to take to the sky and fly back to his family.  "I can't," he breathed.  "I won't.  They're safe now.  Keep them that way.  Don't be stupid."  He lashed his tail, splintering half of another tree.  "Control yourself, Fahrad."

_You're talking to yourself again,_ the Old Gods teased.

"Better to myself than you," he growled.  He crouched lower, tensing his muscles, before springing into the air.

 

* * *

 

Rumors spread of a mysterious fire that leveled the smuggler's cove in the Wetlands.  It was unusual for fire to spread out of control in such a damp area, leading many to speculate that magic was involved.  None suspected dragonflame as the real culprit, and the rogue who claimed the bounty on the lead smugger's head insisted that everything was intact when he left the camp behind.   Perhaps in the scuffle a brazier had been kicked over and no one had noticed.   Whatever the real story, the merchants of Menethil Harbor were pleased to have the market back to normal.

Fahrad sat at the bar in Menethil's most popular tavern, staring into ale that had long since reached room temperature. He kept replaying the conversation between Nyxondra and their children over and over in his mind.  He wanted to see them so badly his hands shook around the mug.

He had tried to tell himself that Nyxondra wouldn't want him back, anyway, after the way he turned tail and ran away.  Hearing her speak fondly of him to their offspring had made that excuse crumble to ash.

"Everything all right?" asked the bartender, a dwarf with a honey-colored beard and keen blue eyes.

Fahrad blinked out of his reverie and rubbed the bridge of his nose.  "Yeah," he said quietly.

"If the ale isn'ae to yer likin' we've got wine, grog, rum an' cider."

"No, no, it's not the drink.  I was just thinking."

The dwarf gave a kindly smile.  "That can be a dangerous way to pass time, ye know."

A faint smile tugged at one corner of his mouth, but did not last long.  "Do you have any children?" he asked.

"Me?" the bartender said, placing a hand to his chest in disbelief.  "Why, what have ye heard?"  Fahrad looked momentarily confused, so the dwarf laughed and winked.  "I'm jest playin' with ye.   Aye, I've got two wee ones at home.  Yerself?"

"I have a few," he said, twisting the ale mug aimlessly in his hands.  "They're far away, though, and I can't go see them."

"Why not?"  Unbidden, the dwarf filled a shot glass with rum and slid it across the counter at him.

Fahrad hesitated only a second before gulping it down.  It was stronger than he expected, and his eyes watered slightly.  "Too dangerous," he said finally.

"I know kids can be little hellions from time to time, but..."

Fahrad scowled despite the twinkle in the bartender's eye.   "It's not them.  It's me."  Another shot of rum appeared before him, and he drank it.  "I...hurt people.  Sometimes even people I care about."

Demonstrate, the Old Gods piped up.  Shatter your glass and slice open this fool's throat with it.  Drink his blood instead of that swill!

Hey, this is actually pretty good rum, Fahrad defended silently.

The dwarf was now polishing the brass taps with a piece of cloth.  "What about the missus?" he asked.

Fahrad almost mustered a laugh at the thought of Nyxondra being referred to as such.  Instead he gave a sad, wistful smile.  "She's taking good care of the children.  I know that.  I just miss them."

"Well, I won't tell ya yer business, my friend, but it seems to me that those little ones deserve to know their father, even with his faults.   Surely ye can still drop by from time to time."  The dwarf slid a third shotglass of rum in Fahrad's direction.

"Thank you," he said quietly before gulping down the drink.  "But it's better for them to remain safe and have only stories of me.   I can deal with the loneliness.  It's nothing new."

The bartender shrugged, accepted the gold coins the rogue tossed to him, and nodded in farewell.

Fahrad paused in the doorway of the tavern, smelling the cold, salty air outside but somehow unable to move his feet. 

Go back, the whispers insisted.  Kill him.  Stuff him inside a keg and listen to him drown.  His frantic pounding to get out would be so very sweet to our ears...

Fahrad's hand closed around the hilt of one of his daggers before he was able to wrest control back.  He stomped out the door and into the night.  The voices receded for the moment.  He gave a deep sigh and watched the white cloud of his breath rise toward the starry sky.  The cold didn't bother him as much as it might have without the rum spreading pleasant warmth through his human body.  It took far more than three shots to get him drunk, but he did feel more relaxed, especially now that the Old Gods had shut up again.

While trying to decide if he should find a room for the night, or start the journey back toward Hillsbrad immediately, he wandered to the waterfront.  Menethil was a busy port, and even at this late hour there was activity along the docks.  Several large ships were moored, and one was lit up with torches as a crew of humans unloaded cargo.

The thought of buying a berth on such a ship crossed his mind.  It had been at least ten years since he visited Kalimdor, and a change of scenery might do him good.  It would reduce the temptation that tugged at him constantly to take wing and fly back to the Badlands.  He stood and stared at the smaller of Azeroth's two moons, the one called the Blue Child, hanging overhead.  Perhaps an ocean between him and Nyxondra would be the best thing.

He tensed, preparing to take a step toward the dockmaster's post.  The bounty he had just collected would more than pay for passage to Kalimdor.

Before he could move, however, a familiar voice filled his mind.  _Fahrad?  Can you hear me?_

He choked back a cry of surprise and turned away from the piers.  _Nyxondra?_

_ Are you all right, my love? _

He gave a breathless laugh and rubbed his forehead.  How could he answer that?  He certainly wasn't "all right," but he still drew breath and for the moment the Old Gods were ignoring him.  _I am as well as can be expected,_ he said at last.  _More importantly, the children...  I heard them last night._

_Oh, you did,_ she said apologetically.  _I was afraid of that._

_They have hatched, then?_

_Six did, the day before yesterday._

_The seventh?_ He wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.

_Did not hatch,_ she said matter-of-factly.

Fahrad exhaled deeply, relieved that she had been spared the burden of putting down a hatchling who was too crazed with the Old Gods' bloodlust to function.  No doubt she had been forced to do so with at least some of her previous clutches, but for the moment a failed egg was far easier to cope with.

_There are four females and two males,_ Nyxondra said proudly.  _I wish you could see them, Fahrad.  They're beautiful.  Of course, I always think my babies are, but these have your head frill, and three of them even have your eyes._

He swallowed back a surge of emotion.  _I'm glad,_ he said at last.  _I hope they remain strong and healthy._

Nyxondra was silent for a moment and he was afraid she had severed the mental connection.  Then, hesitantly, she asked, _When are you coming home?_

Fahrad paced along the dock, clenching his fists in agitation.  _I can't come back, Nyx.  You know that._

_No, I don't know that,_ she snapped.  _You were_ fine _for weeks.  You'd probably be fine for many more if you returned.   I know it wasn't always easy, but...we were happy._

_Yes.  We were.  And now you and the children can be._

_I told you the first night we spent together, I wasn't taking you as my mate only because I wanted you to father children.  Yes, I wanted to be a mother again, but that was secondary.  I love you, Fahrad.  I want you here with me._

_Nyx, please understand--_

_I've been trying to understand for weeks,_ she interrupted angrily.  _I waited as long as I could to contact you again, hoping you would come to your senses and return.  I know you're scared.  I know you're trying to protect us.  But this hurts, too, you know.  I haven't let the children see me cry, but damn it, I miss you so much I can barely eat.  Come back.  Even if you feel that you can't stay for long stretches of time, just come back for awhile.  Please.  I need you.  Your sons and daughters need you._

Fahrad walked faster, rubbing his forehead with a frown.  _I'm sorry, Nyx.  I love you.  I love you so much it physically hurts that I can't be with you.   But if I attack you--_

_I'll track you down and attack_ you _if you don't get your scaly behind back here right now!_ she snarled. _You're not the only one who hears the Old Gods, you know!  Every day, they try to convince me that you've abandoned me.  That you never really loved me.  That you're unworthy.  That the children you sired are weak and should be destroyed.  Prove them wrong!   Prove yourself stronger than they think you are!  I may snap and hurt you.  You may snap and hurt me.  But at least we'll be together!_

_But--_

_Think about it, Fahrad!  When you were with me you didn't lose control.  I kept you grounded.  You think I didn't notice all the times you were troubled and withdrawn, but I knew.  I helped you get through those spells, whether you realized it or not.  Yes, you had a lapse, but it was when I wasn't around._

The logic in this made him stop pacing.  _I...never thought about it that way._

Her voice grew softer and less confrontational.  _I can't force you to come back.  And I can't come after you as long as I have the children to care for.  But please, please, my love...tell me that I will see you again._

He took a slow, deep breath and let it out just as slowly.   _You will, Nyxondra.  I don't know when, but...  I promise I will visit.  I can't imagine never seeing you again...never touching you again...   I love you._

_ I love you, too.  I will be waiting, whenever you feel you can come back.  Even if you can't stay forever. _

_ Thank you for telling the children...what you did about me. _

_ You heard that, too? _

_ Yes.  And it means more than you can imagine.   Tell them you've talked to me, that I'm all right, and that I love them. _

_ I will.  Stay safe, beloved. _

_I'll do my best,_ he replied, bowing his head.

_ For me.  For us. _

_ For you. _

Nyxondra's presence faded from his mind, leaving him standing alone on the pier with his heart pounding as if he'd just run a mile.

 

* * *

 

There was plenty of work for a mercenary assassin in the Eastern Kingdoms, so Fahrad decided not to sail to Kalimdor.  It had become routine for him to mentally communicate with Nyxondra every two or three days.  She kept him apprised of the latest developments with their children, who were thriving.

It was nearly two months later when a Dark Iron dwarf hired him to eliminate an enemy who happened to live near Loch Modan.  Perhaps it was a sign, or perhaps he was looking for an excuse, but the time seemed right to venture back into the Badlands.

Night was falling over the coastal mountains, the last tinges of sunset turning the sky as red as the rocks below, when Fahrad circled down to land in a ravine about a half mile from where Nyxondra's lair was.

He sat for a moment to catch his breath and center himself.   The Old Gods had not paid much attention to him in the last several days, and he prayed that the trend would continue.

Planting all four paws firmly on the ground, he sent out a message into the earth.  _Nyxondra?_

The reply was immediate.  _Fahrad!  You sound close._ There was hope in her voice and he felt his breath quicken with anticipation.

_ Are the children asleep? _

_ Yes. _

_ Remember that dead-end ravine where we cornered a dozen ogres and then ate so much we both got sick?  _

Her laughter filled his head, and he grinned.  

_ I remember. _

_ I'm there now. _

_ Really? _

_ Really. _

_I'm on my way!_ she cried.

He fidgeted anxiously, watching the stars emerge as the night deepened.   In less time than it would usually take to fly such a distance, a large, dark shape came hurtling out of the sky.

"Fahrad!" Nyxondra squealed in delight, pouncing on him with such enthusiasm that she knocked the air out of his lungs.

"Oof!  Hi, Nyx," he grunted.

"Oh, Fahrad, I missed you so much!"  Tears welled up in her crimson eyes as she looked him over from head to tail, as if convincing herself that he really was there before her.

"I missed you, too," he said quietly, swallowing back his own emotion.  "You look well."

"Just well?" she teased.

He leaned forward to rub his nose against hers.  "You look absolutely gorgeous," he amended.

"Better," she said with what began as a laugh and ended as a sob.  "I was afraid I'd never see you again."

He took her in his arms and held her so tightly it was as if he were trying to absorb her directly into his body.  Her voice, her smell, the feel of her scales against his, everything was just as he remembered it.

She wept into his shoulder, and he swayed back and forth, patting her back and murmuring meaningless words of comfort.  Slowly, her tears subsided and she nuzzled against him with a different intent.

After so much time apart, it took little coaxing before they were panting with need for each other.  They said nothing, as if afraid words would shatter this fragile moment.  He eagerly mounted her, and their sighs and moans echoed through the dark ravine.  It was almost as if they had never been separated, that the past months were only a bad dream.  They writhed together with an air of desperation, both peaking swiftly but reluctant to part.

"I love you," she gasped, holding onto him with all four limbs as if she never wanted to let go.

"Oh, Nyxondra," he breathed against her neck.   "Not a day went by that I didn't think of you...miss you...love you..."

They lay together for another half hour, simply reveling in each other's presence.  Just when Fahrad was getting drowsy, Nyxondra drew away, and he opened his eyes.

"Let's go home," she said, spreading her wings.   "There are six someones you need to meet."

Fahrad's stomach flipped over in nervous excitement.   "That's right."  He sat up and shook his head a few times to get his senses working properly again.

Nyxondra gave him a playful bite on the shoulder, not deeply enough to leave a mark, and launched herself into the air.  He took a deep breath for courage and followed.

 

* * *

 

The caverns were unchanged, except for the absence of the egg-filled nest.  Instead six plump whelplings were piled up together in a side chamber, sound asleep.  Their parents sat side by side in the entrance, silently observing.  Nyxondra kept giving him anxious smiles, as if she was afraid he would find something inadequate about them.  She needn't have worried, however.   Fahrad stared, transfixed by the sight of the tiny dragons who looked so much like them both.

It was hard to tell where one whelp ended and the next began, as they were all cuddled up in a mound of wings, tails and paws.  One of the two male whelplings rolled onto his back and kicked his feet for a moment before settling back into steady, low snores.  His nearest sister instinctively reached out for him when he moved away, drawn to his body heat.  She yawned but did not open her eyes as she turned to use his belly as a pillow.  Oblivious to the presence of their prodigal father, all six slept on.

The need for silence was a blessing to Fahrad, who could not have spoken even if he wanted to.  He simply watched, hardly daring to breathe lest he wake them or betray the emotion that squeezed his throat.

At last he stood, and Nyxondra took that as the cue to lead him to the other end of the caverns where they could speak without disturbing the babies.   "Well?" she said expectantly.

"They're...  They're amazing.  You've done right by them, Nyx, even if I haven't been able to."

She put her head against his with an affectionate trilling noise.  "You're here now."

"For now," he said, shifting his weight uneasily.

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm...in control at the moment.  I wouldn't be here otherwise."

She made a suggestive smirk and flapped toward the cave they had used as their sleeping chamber before.  "Then let's make the most of the time we have."

 

* * *

 

Sometime shortly after dawn, Fahrad was jolted awake by a cacophany of high-pitched screeching.

"Mama Mama Mama, who's that?"

"Is that Papa?"

"Papa!"

"Are you home for good now, Papa?  Did you beat the scary voices?"

"He can't have beat them.  I can still hear them, dummy!"

"You're the dummy, stupidface!"

"You're the stupidface, dummy!"

"I hope when I grow up I have horns like that!"

"Papa, wake up!"

He blinked rapidly and twitched his head fin.  Something small toppled down his forehead in response, and he nearly went cross-eyed looking at the whelpling that landed on top of his snout.

"Hi!" the tiny figure said cheerfully.   "I'm Arroyon!  Are you my papa?"

Before he could answer, five other whelplings swarmed around his face, jostling to be the next one to meet him.

"I'm so glad to finally meet you!" said a female, slurping affectionately against his temple.

"Mama was right, I _do_ look like you!" said another, nearly shoving her brother off his snout to get a better look at him.

"Wow, you're huge!" gasped one, doing a backflip in midair.  "You're bigger than Mama!"

"I bet you could eat like eleventy-zillion ogres!"

By now Fahrad was alert enough to look around for Nyxondra.   She was sitting a short distance away, grinning widely.  He turned his attention back to the whelps.  "Um, hi.  Yes, I'm your papa.  My name is Fahrad."

With this confirmation, the whelps got even more excited, flying around in such a frenzy that they ran into each other and him.  They chattered dozens of questions and introduced themselves, all speaking at once and interrupting each other.

"Children, children," Nyxondra said, taking pity on him at last.  "Calm down.  One at the time, now."

They giggled but obediently took turns saying their names.   Once all six had done so, however, they erupted into a jumble of questions again.

Nyxondra shrugged helplessly and shook her head, still grinning from ear to ear.  

Fahrad snorted out a plume of smoke.

"Whooooooa!" the whelps chorused together, identical expressions of awe on their faces.

He chuckled at their reaction.  "All right, you little chatterboxes.  Everyone who wants to hear stories about where I've been, fly over to the spring."

The whelps cheered and zipped away in a blur of small black wings.

Nyxondra laughed and came over to embrace him.  "As you can tell, it hasn't exactly been quiet around here since you left."

He shook his head.  "I'm surprised the Old Gods can get a word in edgewise, with them around."

"Have they?" she asked quietly.

"Papa, are you coming?" yelled one of the whelps.

"Just a minute," he called before turning back to his mate.  "So far just your typical 'kill something' routine.  As long as I go hunting later that should satisfy them for now."

Her smile returned.  "Good.  And, Fahrad?"   She closed the distance between them again and bumped her nose against his.   "Whenever you feel like you have to leave...  I will understand.   Just promise me you will always come back again someday."

He closed his eyes to press his cheek against hers.   "Always."

 

* * *

 

An uneventful week passed.  Fahrad did all the hunting, partly to give Nyxondra a respite but mainly to channel his aggression into a safe, useful outlet.  The six whelps quickly grew accustomed to his presence and stopped pestering him with constant questions.

One evening Fahrad returned to the lair with his paws full of dead coyotes and a few buzzards.  He found Nyxondra stretched out on a slanted slab of rock in the main cavern, sound asleep with a tangle of whelps snoozing between her front paws.  The peaceful scene made him stop in his tracks and simply admire them for a moment.  This was what was important.  This was his reason to keep fighting the whispers.

The Old Gods had been no more insistent than usual since his arrival.  He hardly dared to think about them, lest he draw their attention.

Movement caught his eye several yards away from his sleeping family, and Fahrad put down the load of food to look closer.

"Hi, Papa," came a youthful voice as a small head poked up over a rock.  "Did you bring supper?"

"I did," he said quietly, not wanting to wake the others yet.

The whelpling, one of the four females in the clutch, fluttered over but did not immediately start eating.  She looked troubled.

"What's the matter, Opalia?"

"Papa, you hear the nasty voices too, right?"

There was no point in denying it, but he hesitated, afraid of what would come next.  "Yes."

"I don't like them."

He gave a sad smile.  "I don't, either.  No one does."

"They tell me to do bad things, or they warn me that my brothers and sisters are going to do bad things to me."

Fahrad's heart sank as he looked down at the tiny dragon's worried expression.  "I know it's hard, but you have to ignore them."

"I do," she said with a sigh.  "Mama says not to believe anything they say."

"That's right."

She thought for a moment, studying her feet, then gazed up at him again.  "I'm scared."

He shifted into his human form and reached down to pick her up.   Opalia snuggled into his arms with a whimpering noise, and he squeezed her tightly.   "They scare me, too," he whispered.

"Really?"

"Yep."

"Sometimes I'm afraid to sleep with the others," she admitted.  "The voices say they might hurt me if I don't hurt them first.   But I don't want to hurt anybody."

He stroked her head.  "I understand.  They say those things to all of us."

"All of us?"

"Every black dragon hears the whispers," he said.

"Even Mama?"

"Even Mama.  And me."

"Arroyon says he doesn't."

"He's lying," Fahrad said with a snort, and she giggled.  "He may be better at ignoring them, but he hears them."

Opalia seemed relieved to have her fears validated.  She relaxed in his arms, tucking her head under his chin.

He rubbed her back through her wings.  "I'll let you in on a little secret."

She looked up curiously.

"That's why I wasn't around, before.  The voices were bothering me so much I was afraid I might hurt one of you."

"Mama said you were fighting against the voices."

"I was.  Fighting to keep them from making me do something I didn't want to do."  He sat down on the rock she had been hiding behind.  "The voices belong to the Old Gods.  You can't see them or touch them, but they can't touch you, either.  Only whisper.  I know it's hard not to let them get to you.  I struggle with it every day, and I know your mama does, too.   But you have to be strong.  Don't let them win.  You love your mama and clutchmates, right?"

"Uh-huh," she said with an emphatic nod.

"Remember that.  Focus on that.  Love them more than you hate the whispers.  And if you have to be by yourself sometimes until you feel better, that's all right.  Do what you have to do to stay in control.   Understand?"

"Yes, Papa."

The whelp hugged him tighter, and he slowly rocked back and forth, patting her back.  Her breathing grew steadier, and soon she was snoring softly against his leather tunic.  She trusted him.  Despite what he had just told her, she was comfortable putting herself at his mercy like this.

_You could--_ began a sinister voice deep in his head.

_No, I couldn't,_ he interrupted, and the Old Gods hissed in anger.  _It's bad enough you monsters are bothering her.  Don't you_ dare _suggest horrible things I could do to hurt her.  You think I don't already know?  Let me save you the trouble.  I could crush her, cut her throat, tear her to ribbons, any gruesome thing you can imagine.  But I'm not going to.   Never.  She's my daughter.  My child.  I love her._

_Love can be twisted to hatred..._

_It can.  But it won't._

_We will be with her always, whispering in her head...   You could put her out of her misery._

Fahrad swallowed and felt a muscle in his cheek twitch in agitation.  _I helped give her life.  I won't take it away just because you disgusting pests are a part of it._

Opalia pawed at his tunic with a quiet trill of contentment, and he lightly kissed her forehead.  He knew he couldn't save her from the Old Gods' whispers.  He knew her life, and the lives of her siblings, would be a struggle for sanity that not all of them would win.  He knew his own internal battle would catch up with him again and force him to leave them for a time.  But if he could provide this one whelp with some comfort and a snug place for a nap, then for today that was enough.

 

* * *

 

Twelve more tranquil days passed.  The whelps were asleep in their own cave, and Fahrad and Nyxondra were curled together in bliss in their sleeping chamber.  

"Nyx?"

"Mmm?"

He placed a paw against her abdomen.  "You're gravid, aren't you?"

She grinned and nipped him playfully.  "You noticed!"

"I did."  His smile had a melancholy cast to it, and she creased her brow in concern.

"You're leaving again soon," she said softly.

He held her tighter.  "I don't want to.  You know I don't.  But it's getting harder and harder, every day."

"I know," she said with a sympathetic sigh.   "You've been awfully quiet."

"Have the children noticed?"

"Opalia did, I think.  She struggles, too.  More than the other five."

"I've talked to her, tried to give her advice, but...   I'm not the best example.  I can't even stay with my mate and children."   He scowled in self-loathing and turned his head away.

Nyxondra sat up and leaned over, putting a paw under his chin to make him face her again.  "You've learned from your mistakes, and you know your limitations.  There is nothing wrong with that."

He sniffed skeptically.

"We can make this work," she insisted.  "Of course I would prefer it if you were here every day, but I see how difficult it is for you."

Guilt darkened his face.  "I'm weak."

"You're not weak.  You're coping as best you can, as we all do."

"My best isn't good enough," he grumbled.

She laid down again, nestling her head against his neck.   "Fahrad, please...  I can deal with only having you around part of the time, but I won't listen to the dragon I love insulting himself.  You are exceptional.  The way you treat our children has only made me love you more.  Go if you must.  I don't have to _like_ it, but I do understand.  We can still speak through the earth, and as long as I know I _will_ see you again, I'll be all right."

Fahrad closed his eyes.  "I've tried to hold it off as long as I can, but damn, Nyx, they're persistent.  Even now they're on me, telling me to gouge your heart out and eat it."

She exhaled dismissively.  "They're not very creative.  They've been telling me to do that to you ever since you came back."

He blinked at her, then laughed at the dark absurdity of it all.

"I suppose there are only so many ways to kill someone," she teased.  "They must run out of variations after a few centuries."

"Honestly, the more... _detailed_ they get, the easier it is to resist.  It's when it turns into a drone of 'Kill, kill, kill,' over and over, that I get worried.  It can be hypnotizing."

She nuzzled against him with a comforting noise, and he tightened his hold on her shoulders.

"I may not be here when you wake up," he murmured.

"I know."

"I love you."

"I know.  I love you, too, Fahrad."   
  
They lay in silence for some time.  Nyxondra was reluctant to go to sleep, knowing it might be months before she saw him again, but eventually her eyes could not stay open another second.

Fahrad listened to her breathe, taking in her scent and trying to fix everything about her in his memory.

_Slice her throat open,_ the Old Gods commanded.

_No,_ he said simply.

_ Bathe in her blood! _

_No,_ he repeated.

_ Break every bone in her body!  Smash the pathetic younglings to a pulp!  Slaughter everything that moves! _

Fahrad stifled a sigh and made a fist.  _You really know how to ruin a moment, you know that?_

_ Kill!  Slay!  Murder!  Destroy! _

He clenched his teeth as surges of aggression made his heart beat faster.  Using slow, careful movements to avoid waking Nyxondra, he slid out of her embrace and went to the mouth of the cave.  He looked back just once.   Regret, love, anger, sadness, frustration and fear swirled in his head as he gazed on his sleeping mate.  It was time.  To stay any longer would risk everything.

He allowed himself only a glimpse into the cave where his six children were piled up.  Some were snoring, others were quiet, and, off to the side with her back to the others, Opalia was squirming and making soft chirps of distress.   Fatherly instincts urged Fahrad to wake her from her nightmare and comfort her, but the Old Gods countered with orders to decapitate her, and he fled from the lair without doing either.

 


	6. Chapter 6

Time passed, bounties were collected, seasons changed, and more clutches of eggs were laid.  Not all of their children survived, of course.   Some simply failed to hatch, as the seventh egg from the first clutch had.   Some fell prey to illness or accidents.  This was to be expected.  

Most heartbreaking of all were the whelplings who lapsed into a berserk bloodlust and had to be destroyed to protect the rest.  It wasn't until their fourth clutch that Fahrad and Nyxondra had to face such a thing.  Fahrad wasn't there at the time, of course, so she dealt with the situation alone.  It wasn't the first time, or the last, she assured him.  Nonetheless, he could not sleep for days after hearing about it, and changed his itinerary to visit her sooner than planned.

As the years passed they fell into a regular schedule.   Fahrad visited as soon as the spring snows had melted, again at midsummer, and once more in late autumn before the weather turned too cold to travel comfortably.   Sometimes he was able to stay for weeks, while other visits lasted only a few days.  It was less than ideal, but at least Nyxondra and the children could look forward to his next arrival.  She was able to lay a steady supply of eggs through most of the year, ironically having a lull in early spring, just when most wildlife was at peak fertility.

The world around them changed, even if their routine did not.   Fahrad's father, Searinox, was slain by mortals.  Soon after, Lordaeron fell to the Scourge, although thankfully the corruption remained north of Ravenholdt Manor, where Fahrad spent much of his time when he wasn't on a mission or in the Badlands.

Mortal forces struck out at Nefarian and Onyxia, ending the lives of Nyxondra's oldest and most infamous siblings.  She shed not a tear for either of them, merely feeling a grim satisfaction that they were out of their misery and could harm no more innocents.

The Dark Portal reopened eventually, but there was no sign of Hemathion.  Whatever had happened to Nyxondra's first mate remained a mystery, although she had accepted his loss years ago.  As long as Fahrad returned to her at least thrice a year, she was content.

 

* * *

 

One winter day Fahrad was riding across Hillsbrad, on his way to Southshore to make contact with a fellow rogue.  Clouds of breath from both him and his horse rose into the air, although only a dusting of snow had fallen so far.   He was dressed for warmth, not stealth, at the moment.  The hood of a heavy, down-filled coat kept the wind out of his ears, and wool-lined gloves allowed him to hold the reins without freezing his fingers.

He usually spent the winters holed up in Ravenholdt, staying close to the fireplace and getting caught up on reading the intelligence reports collected by the league of rogues who used the manor as its headquarters.  The man he was meeting in Southshore had crucial information about the Syndicate's latest activities, and for various reasons preferred not to be seen at Ravenholdt.  Fahrad had agreed to meet him before the cold snap, and was now regretting it.  He was considered a Grand Master rogue and could have delegated the task to any number of the trainees at Ravenholdt.  Still, for secrecy's sake it was better if the information passed through as few ears as possible.

He dug his heels into the horse's sides to coax a bit more speed out of it as Southshore came into view down the road.  In a few minutes he'd be thawing himself in front of a raging fire in the tavern, and then--

The ground began to shake violently.  Bare tree limbs swayed, dry needles rained from the pines, and a low rumbling seemed to come from far beneath the surface.  The horse whinnied in alarm and reared back, nearly throwing Fahrad from the saddle.  He had experienced earthquakes before, but rarely in this area, and never with this intensity.

Swearing, he dismounted and stumbled as the ground kept trembling.  The horse rolled its head in fear and stomped its hooves in the dirt.  Fahrad tried to calm it, but as long as the earth still quivered the animal remained in a panic.

At last, it stopped.

"What the hell...?" Fahrad muttered, looking around in wary confusion.

_ Mama!  Papa!  What was that?  We're scared! _

He jumped in surprise at the sudden rush of young voices in his head.  At this distance, his children could only contact him in times of great fear and distress.  But they couldn't possibly have felt the earthquake in the Badlands, could they?  That was half a continent away!

_What's going on?_ he asked, aiming his inquiry at Nyxondra but letting the children hear, too.

_We're all right,_ she replied quickly, _but we just had a terrible earthquake!  Stalactites were falling everywhere, and I'm not sure what's happened outside.  It felt like the entire mountain was splitting apart!_

_It was really scary!_ one of the whelps wailed.

_And loud!_ another added.

A cold feeling of dread crept up his spine, making the already chilled rogue shiver.  _I felt it, too._

_You did?  Aren't you at Ravenholdt?_

_Southshore at the moment, but that's just as far from you.  What is going on?_   He heard distant shouting coming from the direction of town, and wondered what kind of damage there was.

Nyxondra was obviously trying not to sound frightened for the sake of the children, but he could tell she was alarmed.  _I just heard from Obsidia.  The shaking was just as bad up there in the highlands._ Nyxondra's younger sister had a lair up the coast, to the east of Loch Modan.  As her last living sibling on Azeroth, Nyxondra had reluctantly allowed her to have limited contact.

_I wonder..._   Fahrad began, then cut himself off.

_ What? _

_ I can't think of anything powerful enough to cause that kind of widespread tectonic activity, except...your father. _

After a moment of stunned silence, Nyxondra replied, _But after Grim Batol we thought he was...gone._

_It was never certain.  Can you sense him?_

_I'd rather not try,_ Nyxondra said uncomfortably.   

Fahrad understood her reluctance.  _It's all right,_ he soothed.  _You don't have to.  Maybe it's nothing._

One of the whelps piped up, _Aww, my favorite stalactite broke!_

Nyxondra took over.  _Come on, children, let's go outside in case there's a cave-in.  All together, now!  Ferrion, help round up the youngest ones while I grab the eggs.  Oh dear, I'm going to have to breathe on these every half hour to keep them at the right temperature if they can't be near the lava...  Mithrilia, this is no time to be playing games!  Stop that this instant and get outside with the others!_

Fahrad added, _Obey your mother._

_Yes, Papa,_ chorused the whelps.

_ And stay safe, all of you.  I'll be in touch. _

_Thank you, my love,_ she said _.  Be safe._

 

* * *

 

Southshore suffered significant damage from the earthquake, with many injured as buildings collapsed.  Fahrad still managed to make contact with the informant, although their meeting was a short one due to all the commotion.  Rather than stick to his original plan of staying overnight at the inn, he downed a round of ale and got back on his horse.  Whatever was going on, Ravenholdt felt like the safest place to be.

He was so cold and exhausted when he finally arrived at the manor that all he wanted to do was fall asleep in front of the fireplace, but first he had to pass on all the information he'd gathered to Lord Ravenholdt.  The rest of the rogues had felt the earthquake, although there was no serious damage to the manor.  He did not share his suspicions about the cause of the quake or his knowledge that it had also struck the Badlands.  The others all believed him to be a human, and he had no intention of telling them otherwise.

Fahrad's room was on the second floor, and it was too cold to go back outside, but he needed a connection to the earth to speak to Nyxondra, so he made a detour into the basement.  It was quite chilly down there, too, but he needed to hear her voice again before he retired for the night.

_Nyx, I'm back at Ravenholdt now,_ he said, kneeling to place his hands on the bare stone floor.

_ Good!  Everything all right there? _

_ Yeah, just some pictures falling off the walls, that kind of thing.  How are you and the children? _

_We've had quite a few aftershocks.  The sky to the west looks sort of...orange, like there's fire, or lava...  I don't know.  I don't like it.  But we're all safe and sound.  I've got the children gathered between me and the side of the cliff in front of the lair entrance.  I don't_ think _our cavern will collapse, but I'm not taking any chances._

_Good, good.  You're a clever dragon, Nyx; I trust you to keep them safe._

She chuckled modestly. _I do what I must for my brood.  Including sitting on these eggs like a damned chicken to keep them warm._

He laughed.  _How many this time?_

_Three.  They're not due to hatch for about five or six days.  Hopefully things will calm down by then._

_Those spikes must hurt to sit on..._

She huffed defensively.  _I'm not actually_ sitting _on them, just keeping them tucked between my arm and my chest, and breathing fire on them if they start to get too chilled._

_Ah, I see.  I wish I was there to help keep you warm._

_I do, too,_ she purred _._

It wouldn't have been the first time their long-distance conversations took a steamy turn, but it hardly seemed like the proper time for such thoughts.  Instead Fahrad merely said,  _I'm going to get some sleep, now.  I'll talk to you in the morning._

_All right.  I love you._

_Love you, too, Nyx._   Feeling reassured that his family was safe, Fahrad trudged up the stairs to his room, got the fireplace blazing with a puff of his flame breath, and flopped onto his bed.  Sleep came almost immediately.

 

* * *

 

The next day, Nyxondra was forced to leave her brood long enough to go hunting.  She surveyed the damage along the way, and found that the landscape in the central Badlands had been altered greatly, with scorched plateaus, areas of fresh lava, and a massive gorge that hadn't been there before.  There was no sign of the cause, but she stopped and shifted into human form to ask if any of the mortals in the area had seen anything.  Several confirmed that an enormous black dragon made partially of molten rock had flown through, raining fiery destruction and leaving geologic upheaval in his wake.

Deathwing had returned.

The news shook Fahrad, and he half-expected a summons to come at any moment calling him to the Destroyer's side to assist in his schemes for world domination.  Either he had succeeded at hiding his identity far better than he had hoped, or he was simply beneath Deathwing's notice.  

Somewhat more surprising was the fact that Nyxondra had not received any word from her father, either.  It was unlikely that he had suddenly decided to respect her wish for distance.  Whatever his plans were, they apparently did not require her cooperation.

When the earth had settled down enough to make a cave-in seem unlikely, Nyxondra moved the whelps back into their lair.  None of the three eggs she had been incubating during the Shattering hatched, and she wept to Fahrad, blaming herself for not doing more to tend to them.

_It's not your fault,_ he told her.  He sat on the floor in Ravenholdt's basement, absently stroking the stone floor as if it were his mate's scales.  _They may not have hatched even under perfect conditions._

_I know, but I can't help but wonder..._

_Of course.  But don't be too hard on yourself.  You kept all the rest safe._

_I wish you were here,_ she said.

_ I wish I was, too. _

_ Can't you come home?  Make an extra trip?  I know it's winter, but under the circumstances... _

_ I'll see.  There's a strong north-west wind kicking in tonight and that usually means snow.  That could delay me a day or two, depending on how much we get. _

_ Can't you hire a mage to teleport you to Ironforge?   It would cut days off the trip. _

_That doesn't work,_ he said immediately.  _They calibrate the portals for mortals.  Even if I look like a human, the magic knows the difference.  My head might end up in Ironforge but the rest of me would stay behind._

_Oh.  Don't do that, then._

He smiled.  _I won't._

_ And don't take any unnecessary risks.  We'll be all right. _

_ I'll see how the weather is in the morning. _

_Sleep well, my love_.

 

* * *

 

Fahrad slept, but not well.  The constant rushing whistle of cold wind just outside his window kept him awake, and no matter how much he stoked the fire he couldn't seem to get warm enough.  He sat in a wing-backed chair, wrapped in two blankets.  His instinct was to get even closer to the flames, but if he did he was likely to start his woolen socks on fire.

Instead he hunched down and leaned into a pillow, determined to get to sleep.  His limbs ached, making it difficult to get comfortable.   Eventually he drifted off, slouched over in a coccoon of blankets.

His life and memories were divided into two parts:  before he killed his brothers, and after.  His dreams occasionally took him back to that horrible day, recreating it in varying degrees of accuracy.  Tonight's version was quite true to life, with one exception:  he was in the place of his smaller brother, Riftion.  Just as his brother had been that day, he was quivering with fever, coughing, wheezing, and unable to rise from the corner of the cave where he usually slept.

Fahrad watched himself approaching across the cavern.  He was still a drake, with no inkling of what the future held.  His younger self had a crazed look on his face, teeth bared, back fin raised to its fullest extent.

He could do nothing to stop his past self.  He could only lie there, struggling for breath, as claws tore into him and serrated teeth pierced his throat.

A rasping cry of terror arose from his mouth as he bolted awake, nearly falling out of his chair.  He scrambled to free himself from the layers of blankets, still trying to flee from the nightmare.  When he had his senses about him again, he hurried to stomp out the corner of one blanket that had fallen into the fire and ignited, then pushed the chair back from the fireplace.

"Titans damn it," he muttered, rubbing his eyes.

It was just a dream.  Yes, it had happened, sort of, but this was just a dream, and he was fine.

Except the congestion in his chest was still there, and he found it almost impossible to get air through his nose.  He raised a shaking hand to feel his forehead and grimaced.  His skin in this form was always warmer than a true human's would be, but this was far hotter than normal even for a dragon.

Pain shot through his joints, and he doubled over with a sudden coughing fit.

Oh no.  No, no, no.  He couldn't be ill.  He hadn't been ill in _years_.

The coughing continued, and he staggered to the water pitcher on the bureau for a drink.  Standing had made him dizzy, and he hung onto the furniture tightly, knees shaking.

"Damn it, not now," he said to himself.  As if to spite him, his body let loose with two sneezes back-to-back, and he groaned.

_We'd like to point out that we had nothing to do with this,_ the Old Gods chimed in.  _Although we are enjoying such delightful suffering._

"Shut up," he snapped, dragging his blankets back to the bed.

 

* * *

 

Morning revealed ten inches of fresh snow blanketing the Hillsbrad foothills, but Fahrad barely noticed.  He tossed and turned under three layers of blankets, half-delirous with fever.

One of the other rogues, a blood elf named Myrokos, came to check on him after noticing him missing from the breakfast table.  "Grand Master Fahrad?" he called, knocking on his door.  "Are you there?"

He made an incoherent noise of acknowledgment.

"Is everything all right?"

"Ngh."

"May I come in?"

"Mmm."

Myrokos hesitantly opened the door and peeked in.   "Grand Master?  Oh.  You're sick."

Fahrad turned his head on the pillow and squinted at the elf with hazy eyes.  "Yeah."

"You missed breakfast."

"Mmm."

"Can I get you anything?"

"Nah."

"Do you want me to see if there's a healer around?"

Fahrad opened his eyes all the way and frowned.  "No!  Just let me sleep."  Speaking made a racking cough overtake him, and it was nearly a minute before he got it under control.

"Are you sure, Grand Master?  You sound awful."

"I'm...sure," he wheezed.  "Go."

Myrokos still looked concerned, but did as he was told and shut the door behind him.

Fahrad threw back the blankets and sat up on the edge of the bed with an intense shiver.  Regardless of the weather, he wasn't flying anywhere today.  He wasn't even sure how he was going to make it to the basement and back.

He did, somehow, though he had to stop twice to cough and his legs trembled so much that he feared falling on the stairs.

Fortunately, the chest congestion and stuffed nose did not interfere with mental communication.  _Nyxondra,_ he called.  _Are you awake?_

_Yes,_ she said immediately.  _It's almost noon!_

_Is it?  Oh.  Listen, I'm really sorry, but I'm not going to be able to leave Ravenholdt for a few days._

_Why not?_ she asked, sounding so disappointed that he could practically see her pout.

_ I'm sick.  Must be this cold, damp, weather.  I've been sneezing, and coughing myself inside out.  I'm hoping none of the mortals get close enough to notice the waves of heat coming off me, because I know I'm running one hell of a fever. _

_Poor Fahrad,_ she cooed in the same tone she usually reserved for ailing whelplings.  _That's terrible!  I wish I could be there to take care of you._

_Me too,_ he said with a faint smile.

_ Well, don't worry about us.  We're all fine.  There's been no sign of Deathwing since that first night, and the caverns are stable.  Of course I want to see you, but if you're that sick, you should just rest. _

_ I don't think I have much choice.  I haven't felt this horrible in at least a decade. _

_ Go rest, my love. _

_ I'm going to.  Stay safe, Nyx.  I love you. _

_ I love you, too.  And don't worry about me.  I'll be fine. _

With that, their connection faded, and Fahrad began the arduous task of climbing two flights of stairs while struggling for every breath of air.

 

* * *

 

The next two days were a blur of aches, sneezing and relentless coughing.  When his fever finally broke on the third day, Fahrad realized that in his delirium he had lost partial control of his shapeshifting.  Black scales covered his chest, his eyes were orange with reptilian slits for pupils, and hooked talons replaced the fingernails on his left hand.  He shuddered, realizing how close he had come to blowing his cover.  Thankfully, no one had peeked into his room to see him in such a state.

He splashed water over his face and changed his clothes for the first time in days.  He needed a bath, but for now this was all he could manage before his heart was pounding in his chest and he felt light-headed.  He flopped back onto the bed and caught his breath before daring to navigate the stairs.

"Hey, you're alive!" called one of the rogues from across the common room as he descended the steps.

"I guess so," he muttered.

"You look like hell," said another.

"Thanks, you too," he said with a smirk, and the nearby rogues roared with laughter.

He continued down the stairs to the basement and sat down on the bottom step.  He took a moment to center himself before reaching out to his mate.

_ Nyxondra? _

It took her a minute to respond, which wasn't unusual.   The whelps often kept her busy.  _Fahrad?_ she said eventually, sounding anxious.  _How are you feeling?_

_Like I've been dragged behind a horse for a couple leagues and then drowned,_ he quipped.  _But better today than yesterday._

_Good, good,_ she said, still sounding distracted.   _We may have a problem, here._

_ Oh? _

_ Remember a few weeks ago when I mentioned I'd seen a red dragon in the area? _

_ Yeah. _

_ I don't know if she's responsible, but several of the children who are old enough to be out on their own have disappeared. _

_What?!_   

_ No one has seen Gravellian, Marbelia or Quartzion in at least two days.  They're all between five and eight years old, so it's possible they've just gone off to find their own territories, but they usually say something when they do that.  And I can't reach them mentally, either, so unless they've left the continent... _  She left the thought ominously unfinished.

_What makes you think that red dragon might be behind this?_

_She's been camped out in Lethlor Ravine for a few days now._

_Lethlor?  That's way too close for comfort._

_Precisely.  I've forbidden the children to leave the lair, but there are the older ones who have already left, not to mention the neighbors' clutches...  I'm really worried._

Fahrad ground his teeth.  _I should be there._

_It can't be helped, my love.  We'll keep lying low and hope it's nothing.  The red has been in the form of a goblin most of the time, so perhaps she's just working with mortals on some project._

_Possible.  Still...I don't like it._ Fahrad stood and paced.

_I don't, either.  But I can't take any risks right now.  I'm gravid, and I can probably only produce one or two more clutches before...well, before you visit again._

_Then don't do anything stupid._

_Me?  Do something stupid?_ she said in exaggerated outrage.  _I don't think I like your tone, Grand Master Fahrad._

_Deepest apologies, Lady Nyxondra,_ he said formally.   _I suppose putting up with_ me _as your mate for all these years more than meets your lifetime stupidity quota._

Her easy laugh made him miss her even more than usual.  _Oh, Fahrad.  If loving you makes me stupid, then I guess I'd be outwitted by a trogg._

_ But you're far lovelier than any trogg I've ever seen. _

_You really know how to give a compliment to a lady,_ she drawled.

_ I'll lavish you with better ones when I see you again. _

_ Lavish me, and ravish me. _

He leaned against the basement wall and grinned.  _Of course.  Until then, my dear._

_I'll be waiting for you, as always, my love._

Her presence faded from his mind, and an extra twinge of sadness marked their parting.  He reminded himself that he would see her soon, and gathered his strength to climb the stairs once more.

 

* * *

 

Fahrad rested for the remainder of that day and planned to head out the following morning.  Depending on the weather, he hoped to fly at least to Refuge Point in Arathi before stopping.

"Headin' out so soon?" commented Smudge, a dwarf who was also a regular at Ravenholdt.

"Yeah," Fahrad said, putting up the hood of his coat as he headed for the front door.  "Family business."

Smudge did not question further.  Rogues valued their privacy and learned quickly not to pry.  "Ye still sound awful."

Fahrad stopped and shot him a cross look.  "I always sound awful."

Smudge chortled and slapped his knee.  "Ye normally have gravel in yer throat, Grand Master.  This sounds more like a couple o' boulders."

Fahrad tried to retort but ended up coughing.

"Ye sure it's wise to travel like that?  Two days ago ye were half-dead."

"I'm fine," he rasped.

"Hmm.  Well, keep your feet on the ground," Smudge said, quoting a traditional dwarven blessing.

Fahrad smirked in private amusement.  That, he wouldn't be doing.  "Thanks."

He stepped out the door and paused for a second as icy air filled his lungs.  His chest hurt, and he grimaced but continued on across the courtyard.  A path had been cleared through the snow as far as the supply shed and blacksmith, but beyond that unbroken white sparkled before him.  At the bottom of the hill a rock tunnel went through the mountain and down toward the river.  The sooner he got out of sight on the other side of the tunnel, the sooner he could shift into his true form and fly.

Very little snow had drifted into the tunnel, and he stamped off his boots.  His breath burned in his throat and he closed his eyes briefly to fight off a whirl of dizziness.

_ Fahrad! _

Nyxondra's voice came loudly, suddenly, and urgently, and he staggered.  _Nyx?_

_Fahrad, the red, she's here, she took some of our babies!   I tried to stop her, but I'm going to lay soon, maybe even today, and I couldn't, it all happened so fast!_ His mate was talking so quickly he could barely understand her.

_Whoa, whoa, Nyx, calm down!_   Fahrad steadied himself with a hand on the rock wall of the tunnel.  _The red dragon took some of the whelps?_

_Yes!_ she wailed.  _They were playing just outside the lair, on the plateau.  By the time I realized they weren't in the cave and managed to get out to scold them--I'm not moving very fast, I'm so full of eggs right now--the red swooped down and just...took them!  She took our babies!  Three of them!_

_When did this happen?_

_Just now!  A few minutes ago!  I have to go get them back!_

_No!  Nyx, you can't.  You said yourself you're moving slowly.  Wait for me.  I'm just leaving Ravenholdt now, but I'll fly as fast as I can._ Fahrad started running through the tunnel, wet boots crunching on the sandy ground.  

In the far recesses of his mind, the Old Gods smugly reminded him that even under ideal conditions, it took at least two and a half days to fly that far.

As if hearing the same thing, she cried, _There isn't time!  Titans only know what that red's going to do with them!  I've heard stories from the highlands.  The red flight's been slaughtering black dragons, including whelps!_

_ But the reds are the guardians of life! _

_Apparently that doesn't include our flight anymore,_ she said bitterly.  _I have to get our babies back.  You think the rocks are red around here now?  Wait until I tear that monster's throat open and spill her blood!  I'll pluck her eyes out and feed her entrails to the coyotes!_

_Nyxondra, wait!  That's the Old Gods talking.  Think!  If you go rushing after her in this state you'll get yourself killed!  Just stay put, take care of those eggs, and I'll--_ Dread congealed in his stomach as he realized the connection between them was no longer active.  She was in the air.

"Damn it, Nyx," he said aloud, sprinting out of the far end of the tunnel.  He shifted back into his true form for the first time in months and leapt into the cloudless sky.

His body felt heavy, as if his wings were not strong enough to lift him.  He strained to flap faster, but the lightheadedness that had plagued him in human form was magnified by the thinner air.  His chest heaved as he tried to force himself onward.

Time was measured by each painful beat of his wings, so he had no sense of how far he had gone.  He squinted downward against the glare of the sun on the fresh snow, and saw Thoradin's Wall looming just ahead.  That's all the further he had gotten?

A coughing fit seized his body, and he did not have the oxygen to continue.  He careened downward and slammed into the ground at the foot of the ancient wall.  Whirls of snow arose from the site of impact, even as his hot breath melted the drifts beneath his head.  He doubled over, gasping and choking, fighting to stay conscious despite the black spots accumulating in front of his eyes.

He did not have the breath to speak, but his mind sent out a single, vivid thought:  _Nyxondra!_

There was no answer.

He coughed up a splatter of phelgm before finally recovering some semblance of control.  Panting, he dug his claws into the muddy ground.  _Nyx!  Are you there?_

Silence.

Did that mean she was still flying after the red dragon, or had something more sinister happened to her?

Fahrad attempted to take off again but his limbs were shaking so badly that he crumpled onto his stomach instead of becoming airborne.  "Damn it," he snarled.  Just that bit of speaking was enough to set off another round of coughing.

_Weakling,_ the Old Gods taunted.  _Even newly-hatched whelplings can fly._

He ignored them, concentrating all his strength on breathing.   _Nyxondra, say something!  Can you hear me?_

_Your devotion is touching,_ the voices said with cloying insincerity.  _If only you weren't so very far away..._

_Quiet!_ he snapped.  _If it wasn't for you bastards, I'd never have left her side in the first place!  This is your fault!_

_Now, now, Fahradion, you give us too much credit.   Alas, the red dragonflight is not under our control.  Pity._

_Nyxondra!_ he tried again, closing his eyes and clutching his forehead as if that would make his message strong enough to reach her.

Nothing.

He opened his eyes and lashed out with his tail, striking the stone wall so hard that chips of it crumbled off.  _You know what's going on!   You know where she is!  Tell me!_

_What fun would that be?_ the whispers scoffed.

_ Tell me! _

_Or what?_ the Old Gods asked.

Fahrad's labored breathing came dangerously close to sobs.   _Please,_ he begged.  _Tell me.  Is she alive?  Is she all right?_

Simultaneously, three different but equally sinister voices said, "Yes," "No," and "Maybe."  Then they joined into a unified shriek of laughter.

_Nyxondra!_ he called once more.  _Where are you?_

A full minute ticked by before he accepted that she wasn't going to answer.  

"No," he whispered.  "No, no, no, no!  This isn't happening."

He made another attempt to stand but his trembling limbs were no more cooperative than before.  His shallow, rapid breaths were only making him feel dizzier, and this time when a coughing spell overtook him he could not prevent himself from fainting.

 

* * *

 

The sun had barely moved when he regained consciousness, so he could not have been out for long.  Fahrad raised a paw to his forehead and found his fever had returned.  Just what he needed.

Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion.  He sat up carefully, blinking away the colored lights bouncing across his field of vision.   He couldn't stay here in the cold.  He also knew he could never make it to the Badlands in this condition.  He needed help, and the only mortals he could even partially trust were back at Ravenholdt.

Well, then.  The only thing to do was to retrace his path.

This time his limbs held him long enough to get airborne, and he only flew as high as he had to in order to clear the barren trees.  If he was seen, so be it.   Any higher and the thin air would probably make him faint again, and falling from such an altitude could prove fatal.  He stopped frequently, both to catch his breath and to try again to reach Nyxondra.  Silence was his only reply.  

It was well after sunset when he finally reached Ravenholdt.  His last reserves of energy lifted him over the ridge and onto the manor's grounds.  He was counting on the cover of darkness to hide his approach.  The last thing he wanted was for someone to see a large black dragon landing there, but he wasn't sure he could make it on foot from the tunnel.

He shifted back to his human form just before hitting the ground so no draconic footprints in the snow would give him away.  He staggered to the front door and opened it.  Having a lock on the door would have been a colossal waste of time with the world's best thieves and lockpickers around, which was just as well.  His hands were shaking too badly to operate a key.

Simone, the night elf gardener, was sitting by the fire in the main common room.  "Back so soon?"

Fahrad's only answer was a hacking cough.

She looked up from her book with a startled expression.  "Grand Master!  Are you all right?"

He shook his head and continued to cough, leaning on the nearest table.  

Simone hurried to steady him, and two other rogues rushed over to investigate the noise.

Fahrad waved them back, choking into the back of his sleeve until he produced another glob of phlegm.  "Ready a team," he croaked.   "Badlands.  Kill...any red dragons...you find.  Protect...the black ones."

The others looked at each other in confusion. 

Fahrad's knees buckled and Simone grabbed him around the waist as he passed out cold.

 

* * *

 

The rogues of Ravenholdt assumed the Grand Master was hallucinating when he kept insisting they dispatch a team to the Badlands to protect black dragons from red ones.  He had never shown any particular interest in dragons before, and there was no obvious source of profit in such an endeavor.

Kang and Winstone carried the senseless rogue upstairs to his room and sent a rider to Southshore to find a doctor.  Discreet bets were made as to whether he would live long enough for help to arrive.

Every time Fahrad stirred back to consciousness, he would frantically ask about the mission to the Badlands.  Only when they assured him that a team was preparing to depart at first light would he calm down again.  In reality, no such preparations had been made.  The Grand Master was clearly out of his head.

His voice was usually scratchy even under the best of circumstances, but now he was so hoarse and congested that they only understood bits and pieces of what he said.  He was very upset about the color red, and kept asking them to "nix" something.  He asked for eggs several times, but was clearly too sick to eat at the moment.  He also mentioned children, which made no sense since he had no family and everyone at Ravenholdt was an adult.

Simone was the only one with any kind of training as a healer, and her expertise was primarily with herbalism.  The night elf kept applying cooling poultices to Fahrad's neck and wrists, hoping to lower what had to be the highest fever she had ever encountered.  It actually hurt her hands to touch his bare skin.

Morning brought a high elf priest on a white horse, escorted by the exhausted rogue who had gone to fetch him.  Holy types were seldom seen at Ravenholdt, so his arrival drew quite a bit of attention.

Simone stood back and let the priest take over the Grand Master's care, grateful for the reprieve after a long night's vigil.  The high elf stood beside the bed for a over a minute, hands raised in silent supplication to the Light.   A calming yellow glow radiated from his body, matching the golden trim on his ivory robes.

Fahrad took a deep, slow breath with less difficulty than before, and reluctantly opened his eyes.  At first he was utterly confused by the presence of a high elf in his bedroom.  Then it occured to him that he didn't remember how he got to his room in the first place, or even to Ravenholdt.

The priest sprinkled a fine, light blue dust from a censer across Fahrad's chest, and he shivered as a cooling sensation swept over him.  He felt his aching muscles relax, and gasped.  Sweat suddenly dampened him from head to toe as his fever broke.  His breathing was easier than it had been in many days, and he could inhale without pain.

He immediately pushed himself into a sitting position, wincing with dizziness.  "The Badlands.  Has the team left for the Badlands yet?" he rasped.

The high elf gave him a blank look, but the rogue named Carlo who was watching from the doorway made a surprised noise.  "You were serious about that, Grand Master?  You're not crazy with fever?"

Fahrad threw off the blankets that covered him and sat on the edge of the bed.  "Yes, I was serious!  Damn it, get a team dispatched, _now!_ " he bellowed.  "I don't care if they're ready or not, I want them on the road right now!  Ride to Southshore, find a mage, hire gryphons, spare no expense, get boots on the ground in the Badlands as soon as possible!  Destroy any red dragons you find and protect the black ones!"

Carlo stared at him in shock.

"Not five minutes from now.  Now!"

Carlo bolted down the hallway, leaving the priest alone with Fahrad.  The last time he heard that tone of voice from the Grand Master, one disobedient rogue had lost a hand.

"Please, sir, calm yourself," the high elf said gently, trying to ease him back into bed.  "You are out of danger, but you need rest.  Your lungs will need time to recover fully, or even the Light may not be able to help you next time."

"My children," Fahrad said.  "My...wife.   They're in danger.  She may already be...  I can't..."

The priest's voice remained even and poised.  "Pray to the Light for their well-being.  You will do them no good if you do not recover your health."

The elf was stronger than he looked, or perhaps Fahrad really was that weak--he preferred to think it was the former--and he firmly guided his patient back into bed.

"You are not what you appear to be," the elf said with a quizzical tilt of his head.

Fahrad looked up with a panicked expression.

"I aided the Kirin Tor during the Nexus War," he continued.  "You remind me of some of the ones I treated in those days."

Fahrad swallowed.  Mortals did participate in the Nexus War, but the primary conflict was between the blue and red dragonflights.

"It is fortunate for you that I have had some experience with such...beings.  The spells needed to heal your kind are different than the usual ones."

"Not a word to anyone," he growled.

"It matters not to me what you are, sir," the priest said with a beatific smile.  "The Light compels me to ease the suffering of others, regardless of species."

Fahrad studied him for a moment and decided he was being truthful.  "Thank you," he said at last.  "And I don't think the Light would listen to me, but if you can...pray for my children and their mother, please.   It may already be too late, but..."

The priest put a hand on the rogue's forehead and rattled off a blessing in the high elven tongue.  Warmth pulsed down through his body, but it was different from the heat of his fever.

"May you have the strength to face your trials, and protect your family," he translated roughly.

"Thanks."

"Now sleep."

Fahrad was about to protest that he didn't feel sleepy when a second wave of magic descended on him, and he found himself reeling back into his pillow.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Parts of this chapter overlap with my other fic ("The Black Prince: The Beginning") but whereas that is from Wrathion's POV, this is from Fahrad's.

The next time Fahrad was conscious, he felt stronger physically, but disoriented.  How much time had passed?  Was there word from the Badlands?  Had Nyxondra been trying to contact him?

His room was empty, so he carefully got out of bed, making sure his legs would hold him before shuffling out into the hallway.  No doubt someone would protest or ask questions if they saw him up and about, so he slipped into the deep stealth mode of a master rogue and made it into the basement undetected.

He sat down and placed both hands flat on the cool rock floor.   Part of him wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer, but he reached out anyway.   _Nyxondra?  Nyx, please, if you can hear me--_

_ Fahrad!  You're alive! _

He nearly fell over in surprise, and gave a breathless laugh in relief.  _Nyx!  Yes,_ I'm _alive, but you--_

_The red captured me,_ she said indignantly.  _She snared me in a force field, hiding me from view.  I couldn't reach you, I couldn't free myself, I was helpless.  And that's not the worst part.  She took my eggs.   Remember, I was on the verge of laying when I talked to you before?  I tried to hold back but I couldn't stop it.  I laid four eggs as her prisoner, and she took them from me!  I don't know what she did with them, but I can't find them anywhere._

_But you're all right?_ At the moment, that was even more important to him than the fate of their eggs.  _How did you escape?_

_I'm not sure.  She kept me magically sedated most of the time, but then I woke up...and she was gone.  The force field was gone.  I was just...there, free.  I gathered the children I could find--oh Titans, Fahrad, there are so many I can't account for--and we've fled to the north-west.  Remember the Horde settlement of Kargath?_

_Yeah._

_The earthquake buried it in a landslide and it's been abandoned in favor of a new fortress up the hill.  We're in the ruins there, and I...   I was so desperate I reached out to my brother's forces at Blackrock for help._

Fahrad's eyes widened.  Circumstances really were dire if Nyxondra willingly contacted Nefarian.  Deathwing's eldest son had recently been brought back to life by necromancy.  She had shunned her family before, but now the touch of such vile magic made her even more reluctant to deal with them.

_ Nefarian sent one of his lieutenants, Kalaran, and an entire unit of dragonspawn to guard us.  We should be safe for now. _

_ Can you trust them? _

_I have to,_ she said grimly.  _I have nowhere else to turn._

_Damn it, Nyx, I should be there.  I'm so sorry._

_It's not your fault,_ she soothed.

A nervous laugh escaped him, and he shook his head in disbelief.  _Oh Nyx, I was so sure I'd lost you.  I nearly killed myself trying to get there to save you._

_Are you all right?_ she asked quickly.

_ Yeah.  I'm still recovering, but after hurrying out into the snow I ended up with a relapse of pneumonia. _

_ Oh dear! _

_ Not fun, but a high elf priest patched me up and I should be good to travel in another day or two. _

_ Don't push yourself.  I think we'll be safe here for now. _

_ What about the red dragon?  Did she just disappear? _

_She's still in the area.  I've caught her scent on the wind, but she hasn't shown herself.  It was so strange...  She claimed to be looking for a way to create a_ purified _black dragon, to return us to the way we were before my father's madness._

_Is that possible?_

_I don't see how it could be,_ Nyxondra said bitterly.   _The entire flight is corrupted.  If there were a way to reverse that, we would have found it sometime in the last ten thousand years.  Right?_ She sounded angry with herself for daring to hope.

_ Maybe...  If anyone was looking. _

She was silent for a moment.  _I don't know.  It's none of the red flight's business, anyway.  Nothing gives them the right to kidnap and experiment on our babies!_

_No, but...  You don't suppose...  Some of the children who are still missing...  Could the reds have succeeded somehow?_

_Don't be ridiculous, Fahrad.  You know as well as I do that our flight will never be free of the Old Gods...who are being especially annoying at the moment.  Shut up, you obnoxious things!  I'm a little busy protecting my brood at the moment.  I will_ not _go rampaging off to kill any stupid orcs for you!_

_It's all right,_ he said reassuringly.  _Just lie low until I can get there.  I've dispatched a team of rogues to help, too.  They should be there in a day or two.  Then, if the Badlands aren't safe for us anymore, I'll bring you back up here with me.  It's colder than you're used to but there are lots of mountains around here._ _I should still have family in Alterac._ _I'm sure we can work something out._

_We'll see,_ she said.  Right now, I just wish everything was back to normal.  I wish I knew what happened to the other eggs.  I wish I didn't have to stoop to asking my brother for help.  I wish you were here.

He swallowed, feeling heaviness in his chest that had nothing to do with his illness.     I know, Nyx.  I'm sorry.

It's not your fault, Fahrad.  It is what it is.  And I don't want you to endanger yourself by making the trip if you're not fully recovered.  I think we'll be safe here for now.  Nefarian's forces have the Horde fortress under their control, and we're protected in two directions by steep mountains.  As you said, we'll just stay here for now.  It's possible the red got what she needed already and won't bother us again.

All right, Nyx.  I'll take the rest of today to build up my strength, but after that the Titans themselves won't be able to keep me away.

Don't push yourself, my love.

I'll be fine.  Stay safe.

I will.

Tell the children I love them.

Always.  They--and I--love you, too.

Nyxondra's presence faded from his mind, and Fahrad made his way back to his room feeling cautiously optimistic.  This was just another of many obstacles life threw between them.  They would overcome this, too.  

Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise, if it finally convinced Nyxondra to move closer to Ravenholdt.  She had outright refused to even consider such a thing before, not wanting to leave the small community of like-minded dragons in the eastern Badlands.  If they could find a lair further north, he could come and go much more frequently.

Fahrad stretched out on his bed, telling himself he wasn't going to go back to sleep.  He would simply rest.  He folded his hands on his chest and frowned slightly at how sore his ribs were from coughing.  The sun was annoyingly bright even through his closed eyelids, too.  He rolled over to face away from the window and hugged an extra pillow to his chest.  Ah, better.

The next thing he knew, it was hours later, the sun was much lower, and Simone was knocking on the door to see if he wanted soup.  So much for not taking a nap.  Oh well, he would need his strength for tomorrow's journey.

He declined the offer of soup, but after he was properly awake he went down to the larder and snuck back to his room with a hearty slab of mutton.  No point in wasting room on other food.  He needed meat to rebuild his strength.  Maybe tomorrow he'd try to pick up an ogre or two on his way across the Arathi Highlands. 

 

* * *

  
Fahrad got up shortly after dawn, finally feeling well-rested.  He was still a bit short of breath when he exerted himself, but he tried to ignore that.  
  
"You're in a good mood," Myrokos said as the Grand Master rummaged in one of the kitchen cupboards.  
  
"Am I?"  
  
"Well, you've got some spring back in your step, at least.  Considering how sick you were, that's a bit of a miracle."  The blood elf sat at the table, paging through a ledger with ink-stained fingers.  
  
Fahrad found what he was looking for: a tin of sweets from Dalaran.  Nyxondra always delighted in tasting something new, and he was quite certain she'd never eaten this kind of candy.  He usually tried to bring her an unusual type of meat from somewhere that was too far away for her to reach on her hunting expeditions, but he didn't want to take the time now.  
  
He tried to slip the tin of candy into a pocket before Myrokos noticed what he had, but, like most rogues, the blood elf had keen powers of observation.  "Didn't know you had a sweet tooth," he teased.  
  
"They're not for me," he said gruffly, heading for the door.  
  
"Ooh, don't tell me you've got a paramor somewhere!"  
  
Fahrad made a sour face.  "Don't be stupid."  
  
"Or a love child!  I bet you've got red-haired bastards all over the Eastern Kingdoms!" Myrokos said with a laugh.  
  
It was the sort of ribald but good-natured teasing that the residents of Ravenholdt frequently exchanged, and Fahrad merely rolled his eyes.  "No, that's you."  
  
"Hey, there's only four.  That I know of."  Myrokos gave a sly wink, and as always there was no way to tell how much, if any, truth there was in his words.  Rogues switched backstories the way other people changed clothes.  
  
Fahrad left Myrokos with his ledger and went back into the main common room.  He muttered a half-hearted curse as he stepped around Salome, who was stretched out on the floor in the most inconvenient place possible.  
  
"Damn cat," he grumbled.    
  
He was nearly ready to leave, but before he retrieved his knapsack from his room he decided to check in with Nyxondra to see if anything had changed.  As usual, he detoured down into the basement.  
  
He closed his eyes to concentrate, placing both hands on the stone wall.  Nyxondra?  How are things?  
  
Her eager reply came immediately.  Fahrad!  Are you on your way?  
  
I'm just about ready to leave.  Thought I'd check with you before I got into the air, though.  Anything new?  
  
It's been quiet, she said uneasily.  
  
No sign of the red?  
  
No.  
  
That's good.  
  
I guess so.  It makes me nervous, and I can't stop thinking about the babies she took.  
  
It's too late to do anything for them now, he said grimly.  Concentrate on protecting the ones we still have.  
  
I am.  I just...have a bad feeling.  It's probably the whispers, though.  They've been telling me that my father is coming here.  I don't trust them, of course, but since I did reach out to Nefarian, I suppose he could have told him...  It gives me the chills just thinking about it.  
  
What are we always telling the children? he chided gently.  Don't believe a word they say.  
  
I know, I know.  I'm just...afraid.  
  
Oh, Nyx, he sighed.  Hang in there.  I'll fly as fast as I dare, and if the weather cooperates I'll be there by sundown tomorrow.  The rogues I sent should be in the area today, although it'll take them awhile to track you down.  When I dispatched them I wasn't sure exactly where you were.  He gave a quiet chuckle.  It's funny, I've done such a good job of making sure no one associates me with dragons that all this blindsided them.  At first they thought I was delirious with fever when I told them to rush halfway across the continent to protect one color of dragon against another.  
  
I hope we haven't blown your cover, Nyxondra fretted.  
  
Nah.  I'll think up some outrageous story to explain it all.  But if they only knew how much time I've spent down here, beneath their very noses, talking to a dragon...  Anyway, we can talk when I get there.  The sooner I leave, the sooner I'll be there.  
  
All right.  We'll be--  
  
She was interrupted by a small voice wailing,  _Mamaaaaaaa!_

_What?  What's the matter?_ Nyxondra said urgently.

_There's somebody hurting Quarrion and Umbria!_ a frightened whelp cried.

_Not for long,_ she snarled.  _Show me where._

A jumble of young voices filled Fahrad's head, all speaking at once.  _Mama!  Help!  Mama!_

_The red?_ he asked.

_No, mortals,_ Nyxondra said in disbelief.  _Oh Titans!  Umbria!  Quarrion!  And Sandria?  No!  Those monsters!_

_Nyx?  What's happening?_

Incoherent screeches of terror from the whelps drowned out any reply she might have tried to make.

_Why aren't they moving, Mama?_ wailed one.

_Mama, I'm scared!_ cried another.

He listened intently for Nyxondra's voice amid the chaos, but heard only the whelps.  She was in the air, then, unable to hear him through the earth.

Fahrad got to his feet and looked around helplessly at the dusty storage crates and extra bales of straw. _Children,_ he called, _get away from there!  Hide!_

_ Papa!  Help! _

But he could not, no matter how desperately he wanted to.   He was hundreds of miles away and could only listen as one by one the sounds of frightened whelps stopped.

No.  This had to be a delayed fever dream.  This wasn't really happening.

_Fahrad!_ Nyxondra screamed suddenly, and the grief in her tone confirmed his worst fears.

_ Nyx, what's happening? _

_Our babies!_ she keened.  _There's a group of mortals cutting them down one after another!  I bet they're that red bitch's lackeys!   There won't even be bones left when I'm done with that filth!_

_ Nyxondra, save yourself.  Please!  Don't-- _

But the connection was broken again as she flew after the attackers.

Fahrad paced aimlessly, covering his mouth and shaking his head repeatedly.  This couldn't be real.

The seconds ticked by without a word reaching him.

He jumped as his mate's voice suddenly filled his mind with a wordless cry of rage and pain--and then fell abruptly silent.

_Nyxondra, are you all right?_ He gulped back a surge of nausea.  _Say something.  Nyx, come on!_

Nothing.

_ Don't do this.  It isn't funny.   Nyx, speak to me. _

Silence.

_ Nyxondra? _

Perhaps it was his imagination, but the lack of response seemed...hollower, somehow.  He sensed that it wasn't simply a matter of her not answering.  There was no one there to hear the question.

Fahrad fell to his knees on the stone floor, numb with horror.  In his darkest, most vile nightmares he had envisoned her death coming at his own claws in a fit of berserk fury.  Not this.  Never this.

_ Nyxondra?  Children?  Anyone? _

The only sounds were his heart racing in his chest and his own ragged breathing.

"No," he whispered.  Just yesterday he had been convinced she was gone, only to be proven wrong.  Which was reality?  This couldn't be.  She had been communicating with him, as feisty and amazing as ever, and then...she wasn't.

He dimly realized that hot tears were coursing down his face but he made no movement to wipe them away.  He simply sat, staring at nothing as denial dulled the crush of grief.

_This is one of your sick, twisted jokes, isn't it?_ he asked the Old Gods.  _You put all that into my head just to screw with me, didn't you?_

_Would we do something like that?_

_You know damn well you would._

The Old Gods laughed cheerfully.  _Quite right, we would.  But no, this bloodbath was not our doing.  Some of the wonderful, corruptible mortals bearing the Blessing of Flesh were responsible.  Oh, the red dragonflight had a hand in it...or should we say a paw?  A wing?  No matter.   So much delicious anguish and death...  We enjoyed every drop that was spilled._

Fahrad knew better than to blindly trust the words of the Old Gods, but nothing they had just said rang false in his mind.

_ Still, it is a pity, really.  We were looking forward to forcing you to slay her yourself while your offspring watched. _

A silent sob made his shoulders jerk upward.  It was true, then.  Nyxondra was gone.  Their children, at least those young enough to still have the innate connection with him, were also gone.  The older ones who had struck out on their own were still out there, he supposed, but his mate, his love, the only ray of light in his miserable life, was dead.

As a rogue, Fahrad was accustomed to doing things as quietly as possible.  His grief was no different.  Tears ran from his eyes, his back heaved with each gulping breath, but no sound escaped him that was loud enough to draw the attention of the others upstairs.

How long he sat there, weeping out the pieces of his broken heart, he had no way of knowing.  Nor did it matter.  Nothing mattered.  He might as well have stayed there in the snow in the shadow of Thoradin's Wall.  The cold and pneumonia would have taken him, and he could have been there to greet them all on the other side of the sky.

_Vengeance,_ whispered the Old Gods.  _Hunt down every red dragon in the Eastern Kingdoms, and beyond.  Kill them all.  Crush them, flay them, burn them alive!  Make them pay!_

The suggestions rolled right off his consciousness like water on oil-treated canvas.  A vendetta like that would require effort, emotion, and drive.  He felt only empty sorrow.

Guilt gnawed at the back of his mind.  If only he hadn't been so far away.  If only he hadn't been sick.  If only he had never left.   

If only Nyxondra had stayed in the lair.  If only she hadn't gone after that red dragon.  If only those ruthless mortals hadn't come to Kargath.  If only Nefarian's forces had protected them better.  If only.

Just when he thought his tears had come to an end, some new facet of tragedy would occur to him, and the flood would start anew.

Eventually cold and hunger had a sobering effect, and he forced himself to his feet.  He couldn't stay down in the basement, wallowing in his grief, forever.  He wasn't sure why; he just knew he couldn't.  So he wiped his face on his sleeve and crept up the stairs in stealth.

Other rogues were sitting around, talking and laughing and going about their usual business.  Fahrad was briefly disoriented to see life continuing as normal, but continued on to the second floor.  His room was just as he had left it, back when things still made sense.  He staggered to the bed and collapsed face first on top of the crumpled blankets.

What happened next, he neither knew nor cared.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the residents of Ravenholdt assumed that Fahrad's lethargy was due to his illness, and did not question his desire to stay shut up in his room for days at the time without leaving.  Someone always found an excuse to bring him food, but the meals they brought were left outside his door, untouched-- except for, oddly enough, the meat, but they blamed the cat .  Simone offered him healing herbs, which he gruffly refused and then dismissed her without allowing any discussion.

His lungs still felt weaker than they should have, and he did seem to need more sleep than before, but for the most part he had physically recovered enough to resume his normal activities.  Why, though?  What point was there to any of it?

He sat at the window, staring out at the melting snow.  Winter's last gasp had hindered his travel plans at the worst possible time, but spring was well on its way.  Another few sunny days and the last of the snow would be gone from the Hillsbrad foothills.  Normally it was a sign he eagerly awaited, since that was when he would make the first of his thrice-annual visits to the Badlands.

Now, spring meant nothing

He leaned against the side of the window frame with a sigh, since holding his head up required too much energy.  It was absurd, really.  For well over a century he had stalked the back alleys of the Eastern Kingdoms, pretending to be a human rogue and shunning his own kind.  They had not been unhappy years, despite his brothers' fates haunting him.  He excelled at stealth, and gained recognition in the underground as a skilled assassin.  He had neither wanted nor sought a mate.  Quite the opposite.  Then _she_ had flown into his life and changed everything.

He had relived every moment of their time together on an endless mental loop for the past week.  Every laugh, every tear, every caress, every word exchanged in anger, every egg, every promise...

No matter how badly it hurt now, he could not wish those memories away.  Nyxondra had brought him to life in ways he never imagined were possible.

His eyes drifted upward to take in the puffy clouds dotting the afternoon sky.  At least now she was at peace where the whispers could never reach her again.  He took some solace in that, even as he yearned to join her.

_ Help me!  I don't want to be a prisoner!  I want to be free!  Please, help! _

The voice was unfamiliar and unexpected, and Fahrad jumped in his chair.

_ Don't keep me locked away in this place!  I'm not a red dragon.  Help me!  Please! _

He put a hand to his chest to calm his quaking heart.  He was on the second floor of the manor.  There was no way one of his own brood could reach him here, without a direct connection to the earth.  

It wasn't the first time one of the other rogues had brought a captive whelp to Ravenholdt, usually as a prize to be sold later on the black market.  Fahrad did his best to ignore the practice, as long as they were red, green, blue or bronze whelps.  The one and only time someone had brought a caged black whelp onto the premises, they were found with their throat cut the next morning, and the whelp had mysteriously disappeared.  Funny, that...   Good thing nobody at Ravenholdt asked many questions.

This one was probably blue, since that flight's magic abilities made them able to project messages more easily than the others.

The frightened voice came again.  _I don't want to be tested!  I want to be free to go my own way!_

Tested?  What did that mean?  Perhaps those eccentric gnomes were up to something.  Hopefully whatever it was didn't involve explosives.  The manor could only take so much.

Curious in spite of himself, and not particularly eager to be reminded of the last time he heard whelps crying in distress in his head, he decided to reply.  _Child?  Where are you?_ There was no immediate response, so he tried again.  _Child, are you all right?  I heard you crying for help.  What's the matter?  Where are you?_

The reply was rapid and jumbled, as if the strange whelp was projecting his thoughts without any attempt to organize them.  _Yes, I'm here, help me, oh please, get me out of here, I haven't even hatched yet but I'm being held prisoner by the red dragonflight at the Vermillion Redoubt, and I need help!  I'm under a big tree in a nest, and they're going to keep me here forever, but I want to be free, help me, please, whoever you are!_

Fahrad blinked several times, trying to parse this.  The Vermillion Redoubt was in the mountains east of the Wetlands.  That was hundreds of miles away.  The whelp had to be mistaken.  _Who are you?_ he asked.

_ I don't have a name yet.  I'm a black dragon.  My mother's name is Nyxondra.  Please, help me! _

Time froze.  Was that possible?  The red dragonflight _had_ been stealing eggs...  But even if this was his son, how was he communicating with him?  Only a dragon with powers on par with the Aspects themselves could reach out from such a great distance without a direct elemental connection.  Was this some kind of trap?  Or perhaps--  Could it be?  Could the reds actually have succeeded in cleansing an egg of the Old Gods' corruption?

There were plenty of unanswered questions, but something in his gut told him this was indeed his child.  The soul-deep bond resonated the same way as the others had, before...

Shaking, he closed his eyes and responded.  _I will get you out of there, son of Nyxondra.  I promise.  Do not be afraid._

_Oh, thank you!_ the whelp gasped. _Thank you, whoever you are!_

Somehow he couldn't explain the truth.  Not yet.  _I am a friend,_ he said instead. _Don't worry, child, everything will be all right soon._

_ Thank you, thank you, thank you! _

_ Hush now, little one.  It may take some time, but I will come for you.  Rest and grow. _

_ Thank you.  I will. _

The link dispersed, leaving Fahrad to sit in stunned silence.   One egg had survived.  All was not lost.

He stood.  "I'll save him, Nyx.  I promise," he whispered before marching out the door.

 

* * *

 

As pleased as the rogues of Ravenholdt were to see their Grand Master on his feet again and looking healthy, they were confused by his first assignment for them.

"We're going _where_?" Myrokos asked.

Fahrad jabbed a finger at the globe that sat on the table in the manor's main common room.  "The Vermillion Redoubt.  It's a red dragonflight stronghold in the hills between the Wetlands and the Twilight Highlands."

Kang crossed his arms on his chest.  "Grand Master, if you want dragon eggs, I have contacts--"

"This is not about 'eggs.'  This is about one very specific egg that must be recovered at all costs.  If anyone wants to question that, they can leave right now."

No one did, and he nodded in approval.

"The red dragonflight is guarding this egg very closely, so it will be a delicate matter to steal it out from under their noses.  Rest assured, if any harm comes to that egg, I will _personally_ disembowel the responsible party and strangle them with their own entrails."

The gathered rogues did not crack a smile.  They knew he wasn't joking.  They also knew the rewards for such an important mission would be worth the risk.

_Are you out there?_ came a young voice inside his head.   _Are you coming soon?  You haven't forgotten me, have you?_

Fahrad gave no visible sign that anything was amiss.   "Send out a recon mission immediately, get the lay of the land, scope out their defenses, and report back.  The rest of you, prep your weapons and supplies.  Time is of the essence, but we can't hurry and botch this, either.  We'll only get one shot."  

The others dispersed, and he pretended to be studying a map spread on the table while he replied to the distant whelpling.  _Yes, child, I'm here.  Don't be frightened._

_I'm not afraid,_ the whelpling said unconvincingly.  _When are you coming to get me?_

_Soon, little one.  Soon,_ he soothed.   _Be patient._

_My egg tooth is going to come in any day now._

_Try to stay in your egg until we come for you.  It will be easier that way._

_But it's so cramped in here!_ he whined.

A small smile played across Fahrad's lips.  _I know.  It'll be all right.  Just a little longer.  Are you hungry?_

_ No.  Why? _

_ Then your egg is still giving you all the nourishment you need.  You won't hatch for awhile yet. _

_ There are a lot of red dragons around.  How are you going to get to me? _

He glanced at the rogues, who were sorting out the details of who would go on the reconnaissance mission and who would stay behind to make preparations.   _Don't worry about that.  I have a plan; it just will take a little while longer to get everything ready.  I want to be certain you'll be safe before we try._

After a moment, the whelpling asked, _Why do you care?  Who are you?_

He paused, sorely tempted to explain his full identity, but it still didn't feel like the right time for such a revelation.  _I am known as Fahrad.  And I know who you are._

_Who...I am?  What do you mean?_

_You are the only hope for the future of the black dragonflight.  That alone makes you worth saving._ He gently severed the communication for the time being and began studying the map in earnest.  This would not be an easy undertaking, but failure was not an option.

 

* * *

 

Fahrad still didn't understand how the whelpling was able to communicate with him when he was not touching earth, but he had come to accept it.   It didn't even surprise him anymore when the small voice intruded on his thoughts at odd times.

After supper one evening, Fahrad sat in Ravenholdt's library, poring over the latest report of cultist activity in the Twilight Highlands.   The last thing he needed was the Old Gods' mortal minions interfering with the rescue.

_Fahrad?  Are you there?_ came an anxious voice.  _How much longer do I have to wait?_

He smiled fondly.  _Not much longer now, child.  Are you all right?_

_Yes,_ the whelpling answered.  _For now.  I just heard some of the reds arguing about whether or not to let me hatch, if it would be safer to...to kill me now.  Please hurry!  I don't want to die!_

His brow dropped into a determined frown.  _Hang on, little one.  I won't let anybody hurt you.  I promise.  Be brave._

_I'm trying_.  _But it's not easy.  I'm so helpless in here, and there's still so much I don't understand._

Fahrad sat back in his chair, intensely wishing that he had the frightened whelpling safely in his arms already. _You will.  Soon, child.  Don't be afraid._

 

* * *

 

Plans moved forward swiftly and efficiently, and by the end of the month a team of Ravenholdt's finest rogues were on their way southward.  Fahrad had carefully considered whether or not he should accompany them, but in the end had decided he could not risk the red dragonflight detecting his true species.  No doubt they were on high alert for any black dragons infiltrating their stronghold.

So it was that Fahrad paced the floor late one night, nearly wearing a hole in the Ravenholdt library's carpet.  The candles in the wall sconces were burning low, but his draconic eyesight did not need them to navigate.  He wore plain brown pants and a long-sleeved tunic of black linen.  He had hoped swapping his usual armor for more comfortable clothes would make the wait easier, but he still found himself unable to sit still.

By his best reckoning, this was the night his operatives would be making their move into the Vermillion Redoubt.  At this very moment they could be closing in on the egg.

Fahrad scratched the side of his neck and leaned against the back of an overstuffed chair.  His body was tiring from all the pacing, but his mind was awhirl.

So many things could go wrong.  The red flight could have already destroyed the egg.  They could discover the rogues and kill them.  Even if the rogues managed to slip away after a botched attempt, the reds would tighten security and there would be no second chance.  Something could go awry during the rescue and damage the egg.  The stress could harm the whelpling inside. 

_Watch over him, Nyx,_ he thought, rubbing his bleary eyes.  Even as he thought this, however, a familiar young voice cried out in his head.

_ Fahrad!  Fahrad, I'm being taken away by some mortals!  Should I be worried? _

A rush of excitement banished all thoughts of fatigue.  _No, child.  I sent them.  They're bringing you to me.  Just relax and enjoy the ride._

_Not much chance of that,_ the whelpling griped, as apparently the rogue carrying him was more concerned with speed than gentleness.

Fahrad grinned nervously and looked out the window at the stars.  If all went according to plan, he would have his son's egg in his arms in less than two days.

 

* * *

 

Fahrad did his best to hide his anxiety over the following day, but the rogues who knew him best suspected that this was no ordinary mission.

He stood at the table in the main common room, staring at a map of the Arathi Highlands, trying to guess where the precious cargo might be now.

"Grand Master?"

He gave a start and looked up, suddenly realizing that Simone had been talking to him.  "What?"

"I asked if you had a buyer lined up for that egg.   It must be worth a fortune, with all the trouble you're going through to get it."

He fought back a flash of irritation.  She didn't know any better, after all.  "It's priceless, actually.  The only one of its kind in the world.  And it's going to be staying right here."

"Oh."

He turned away from the maps and regarded her with a thin smile.  "Do you have any children, Simone?"

She quirked a long, elven eyebrow at him with surprise.   "No.  Why?"

"Well, we're all about to get experience raising a baby dragon," he said with a crooked grin.

Simone looked utterly confused, but knew better than to ask further questions.

Fahrad wandered outside to get some fresh air.  As he straightened the weapons in the rack near the training dummies, curiosity got the better of him and he decided to try contacting the occupant of the egg.  

_Child, are you well?_ he called.

The whelpling sounded glad to hear from him.  _Fahrad!   I'm all right, but how much longer until I reach you?  I've been banged around and shaken and tipped over, and I'm getting sick of all this moving around!_

He gave a short laugh.  _Getting a bit cranky, are we?_

_ You would be, too, if you'd been jostled around for an entire day without stopping!  _

Fahrad could imagine a very Nyxondra-like pout on the whelp's face, judging by the tone of his voice.  The thought made a flash of affection and grief shoot through him.  _I apologize for the inconvenience,_ he said with just a hint of mocking.  _I cannot risk you being followed or discovered. I've taken great care in making sure the red dragonflight cannot track you.  It's for your own safety, child.  What sort of person has you right now, and how are you traveling?_

_It's a male human on a horse.  We've been riding since this afternoon._

_Excellent.  That fool gnome actually did something right for once.  Normally it would have taken three times as long to traverse the Arathi Highlands._

It had been a bit of a gamble entrusting the egg to one of Zann's inventions, but the gnome had literally staked his life on the safety of his motorized vehicle.  

_You should arrive at my doorstep by noon._

The whelpling said nothing, but Fahrad could feel his disappointment that it would take that long.  _Not much longer now, little one.   I cannot wait to meet you._

_What are you?_ the whelpling blurted.  _A human, elf, goblin, what?_

Fahrad swallowed, once again tempted to explain.  But it wasn't the time.  Not yet.  _Ah, you'll know soon enough, child,_ he said before severing the connection between them.

 

* * *

 

If he hadn't known better, Fahrad would have thought a bronze dragon was pranking him by making time slow down.  The sun crept across the sky at an agonizingly sluggish pace.  For all his exhortations to the whelp to be patient, he himself was too agitated to stand still.

He paced the length of the basement over and over, checking on the nest area he had prepared.  The pile of straw wasn't fancy, but it would cushion and insulate the egg.  Zazzo and Zan had devised two strong heat lamps which were mounted to the ceiling.  They had been cranked up to their highest setting since dawn, and the basement was now sweltering by mortal standards.  Hopefully it would be adequate to incubate the egg.  If only the whelp hadn't gotten dangerously chilled during the time spent traveling from the Vermillion Redoubt to Hillsbrad... 

As Fahrad fussed over the angle and setting of the lamps and rearranged the straw for the hundredth time, he could not shake the memory of Nyxondra preparing the nest for their first clutch.  He had teased her about her obsessive attention to every tiny detail.  Now he understood.

_Fahrad, we're almost there!_ a small voice intruded suddenly.

The rogue jolted to his feet with a grin.  _Excellent!_   _All is ready for you._ He hurried up the stairs, heart racing.   Finally!  The worst dangers had been overcome, and his last child was safe.

Fahrad waited at the front door of the manor, listening for the sound of hoofbeats on the path.  Before long, the human mercenary he had hired for the last leg of the delivery came into view astride a sleek palomino.  It took all his self discipline to stand casually while the courier dismounted and dug around in his saddlebags.

At last he turned around, and Fahrad's eyes were riveted on the black, spiked egg sticking out of the bag in the man's hands.  "You made good time," he said as nonchalantly as he could manage.

"Didn't run into any trouble," the rider said.   "Not so much as a bear or a panther."

"Excellent.  And I trust your cargo is in one piece?"

"I wouldn't dare show my face here if it wasn't," the human said with a nervous snicker.

Fahrad nodded, grateful for his fearsome reputation.  He reached out eagerly to accept the saddlebag containing the precious egg.  He sensed the presence of a fellow dragon within, and his heart beat faster.  "Carlo has your payment," he told the courier.

"Pleasure doing business with you."

"As always."  Fahrad held the bag securely against his chest as he hurried into the manor, then slowed down to descend the stairs carefully.   It would be unthinkable to trip and break the egg now, after all it had been through.

Only when his feet were safely on the basement floor did he remove the egg from the bag.  It looked just like the hundreds of other eggs he and Nyxondra had welcomed through the years--perhaps a little more iridescent.  Yet it was special, both as their last, and, if the red dragonflight had succeeded, the first of something undreamed of...

Fahrad bowed his head to place his lips directly against the shell.  "Welcome home, little one," he said quietly.

_Where is 'home'?_ asked the whelpling.

"Ravenholdt Manor, in the Hillsbrad foothills.  It's a den of thieves, rogues and assassins, but it's the safest place for you."  He knelt and set down the egg in the nest of straw.

_ So nice and warm. _

"I've had gnomish heat lamps glaring down here for hours.   Any hotter and the straw might combust, but for now it should keep you comfortable."

_ Quite.  Thank you...for everything! _

"You're welcome, child.  It's my honor to serve you, the only purified black dragon in the world."  Fahrad patted the top of the egg.

_ And...what are you? _

"You can't tell?"  He had both hoped and feared that the whelpling would recognize him somehow.

_ No.  You seem...kind of human, and kind of not. _

Fahrad forced a chuckle.  "Close enough.  All you need to know is that I am here to protect you.  You are safe, now.  Take all the time you need to grow and hatch."

_ I think I'll be able to hatch soon.  My eggtooth is almost big enough and my claws are getting sharper every day. _

"Good, good," he said proudly.   "And have you chosen a name for yourself?"

The whelpling hesitated only a moment before declaring, _Wrathion.   My name is Wrathion._

Fahrad raised an eyebrow.  A fearsome moniker for one who still lay helpless within his egg.  He was used to his children selecting names derived from geological features, stones, gems, or their own bodies.  Oh well, a unique name for a unique whelp seemed appropriate.

He sank down to sit in the straw beside the egg and put his arms around it, avoiding the defensive spikes.  Resting his chin atop the egg, he allowed himself to relax and let his body heat speed up the warming process.

_He's safe now, Nyx,_ Fahrad thought.  He knew she couldn't hear him, but it was comforting to speak to her, anyway.  _I saved one, at least.  And if what I suspect is true, he's the most important one of them all..._

 

* * *

 

If the other residents of Ravenholdt thought Grand Master Fahrad had lost his mind, none dared say anything as he dragged his writing desk from the library all the way down to the basement.  No one questioned his decision to set up a cot there so he could sleep beside the egg.  He must have his reasons, they thought.   Whatever bizarre things were going on in the basement, life in the rest of the manor went on as normal.

Fahrad wished he had paid more attention to Nyxondra's egg-turning schedule.  He knew she repositioned the eggs every few hours to make sure they were warmed evenly, but he had to guess at exactly how often.  Still, the whelpling seemed to be doing fine.

On this particular afternoon, Fahrad patiently turned over the egg for the third time that day, making slow movements to avoid jostling the occupant too much.  "How's that?"

_Good.  Thank you,_ Wrathion said.

He returned to his writing desk, where he had a number of parchments, maps and books arranged.

_ Fahrad? _

"Yes, Wrathion?"

_ How long have I been here? _

"Five days."

_ You said when I started to get hungry it would mean I was close to hatching. _

"Yeah."

_ I'm getting hungry.  And I think I've started to make a dent in my shell with my claws. _

Fahrad returned to sit down by the egg.  He carefully ran his hands over the surface, around the spikes.  "It could be time," he said quietly.

_Do you think it would be safe to try?_   The whelpling sounded nervous, and Fahrad couldn't blame him.  His life had already included more than its share of danger and upheaval.  Hatching would add a host of new complications.

"Safe?  Certainly.  If you're strong enough to break through, you're strong enough to be out."

_ Then I'm going to keep working on it. _

"Take your time.  It's not a fast process."

_ All right. _

"Good luck."  Fahrad patted the egg and returned to his paperwork.  His sharp hearing picked up light scratches coming from inside the shell, and he smiled.  Occasionally he would glance over to see if he had made any visible progress, but the iridescent shell was unblemished.

_This is hard_ , the whelpling whined after a half hour of effort.

"I warned you it would take time," Fahrad said sympathetically.  "At least it's something you only have to do once."

_Thank goodness._   The egg was silent for a time as Wrathion rested.  The rogue assumed he had fallen asleep when suddenly he asked, _Fahrad, do you think my parents are still looking for me?_

He dropped his pen on the desk in surprise.   "I...don't know."  A cold feeling of dread spread across his chest.   He knew he should tell him the truth.  He should properly introduce himself.   But when he tried, the words wouldn't come.

_ I guess one of the reds used her own egg as a decoy to make Deathwing think he'd destroyed me, but I know my mother was looking for me, too.   What if she's still searching?  What about my father, and my brothers and sisters? _

What, indeed.  Fahrad closed his eyes briefly, reliving the horror of that day.  He could still hear the cries of terror, and then, even more hideously, the silence.  He rose from his chair again and sat down in the straw beside the egg.  "Wrathion, I'm sorry."  He placed both hands on the eggshell.  As a rogue, dishonesty should have come easily to him, but in this case the lies tasted sour on his tongue.  "I don't know what happened to them.  I tried to contact your mother and got no response.  It's possible the reds captured her again, or worse.  I just don't know."

It wasn't entirely a lie.  He _had_ tried to contact her many times in the past weeks, hoping against all logic that somehow he had been mistaken, that she wasn't gone after all.

_You know my mother?_ Wrathion asked in astonishment.

Nyxondra's lovely face was clear in his mind, her crimson eyes twinkling with humor.  _Oh yes,_ he wanted to say.  _I knew her intimately._ Instead he said, "We've had dealings in the past."   

This wasn't right.  He should tell him the truth.  A speech flashed through his brain, all the things he wanted to explain:   "Wrathion, I knew your mother better than I know myself.  I loved her with my whole heart, and she loved me too, even and especially when I didn't deserve it.   I should have been there to save her, but I was too weak.  I'm sorry.  I'm your father, and I swear I will protect you with my very life.  You may be the most important black dragon since the Earth Warder himself, if the red flight actually did manage to purge the corruption from your egg.  If that is the case, the rest of the black dragonflight must be put out of its misery so the Old Gods won't be able to use us anymore.  You'll be the doom and the salvation of your people...and of me." 

The words flowed easily through his head but the only sentence that came out of his mouth was another lie.  "I was actually trying to contact her when I heard you calling for help."

_What is she like?_ he asked at last.

That, at least, he could be honest about.   "Strong.  Clever.  Fiercely protective of her brood.  Nyxondra really was a...magnificent creature."  He sighed and stopped before he betrayed himself with the emotion in his hoarse voice.

_I hope she's all right,_ the whelpling said innocently.

Fahrad could not force either a clever lie or a veiled truth from his lips, so he merely stroked the top of the egg in a fond, protective manner.  Let the child hold onto that hope for a little while longer. 

 

* * *

 

It was hard to say which was more exhausting:  trying to hatch, or keeping a vigil over an egg.  Wrathion complained about his sore claws and jaw, while Fahrad stoically kept watch around the clock.

He was so accustomed to seeing the shell without any sign of a crack that he did a double-take the first time he noticed a dent in the side.

_I think I'm close!_ the whelpling said with glee.

"I see it!" Fahrad said.  "You've got it, keep going!"  His heart thudded in his chest as he crouched down to get a better look.  Tiny black claws poked through briefly, and he grinned at the sight.  The whelpling inside redoubled his efforts upon getting a whiff of fresh air, and after a moment the tip of his snout emerged.  He pressed forward until his entire head stuck through the gap in the shell, then blinked rapidly in an attempt to clear the slime from his vision.

The breath caught in Fahrad's lungs at the sight of Nyxondra's bright red eyes looking up at him.  The curve of the whelpling's snout matched hers, as well.

Joy and grief mingled to constrict his throat, and he only managed a whisper as he said, "Welcome to the world, little one."

Wrathion opened his mouth to say something but only a squeaky croak came out.

Fahrad gingerly slipped his hands into the gap on either side of his head and pulled back the membrane.  There was an audible crack as the front side of the egg buckled.  Wrathion scrambled forward on all fours.  His claws sliced through the last scrap of shell holding him inside, and he tumbled onto the dusty straw with a gurgling trill.

"You made it!" Fahrad cheered.

Wrathion coughed and sputtered, trying to clear his mouth of the slimy fluid that covered him from head to toe.  He was trembling all over, disoriented and exhausted.

Instinct told Fahrad to lick the hatchling clean, but his human form did not make that a viable option.  Instead he scooped him up and dunked him in a large bucket of steaming water to rinse off the sticky yolk.  As soon as he was clean, he wrapped him in a fluffy towel.   "You're all right, my boy," he muttered, wiping the last traces of slime out of his eyes.   "You're all right.  You made it.  You're safe."

Wrathion quivered and still seemed unable to properly focus his eyes.  Worry darkened Fahrad's face.  The poor whelpling had not had an ideal start in life.  His egg had been jostled, shaken, and kept at inadequate temperatures.  And who knew what the reds had done to it...

Fahrad held him tightly to his chest and exhaled slowly, drawing from the same source of internal warmth that fueled his flame breath.  The hatchling stopped shivering after a few minutes, lying limp in his arms.

"Rest, little one," he said gently.  "It's all right now."  He wound the towel once more around the newborn whelp and sat down on his cot.

Wrathion relaxed, and within minutes was snoring softly against the rogue's leather vest.

Fahrad knew the future was going to be complicated.  If Wrathion truly was purified, there was hope that at long last the black dragonflight might be free of the Old Gods.  The tiny whelp in his arms might well be the start of a bright new future for their kind.  

The corrupted remainder of the old flight would have to be purged for that to happen, however.  No matter how many years Fahrad had spent pretending he was not one of them, he _was_ a black dragon, and the whispers were even now urging him to do unspeakable things.  For Wrathion's future to be secure, sacrifices would have to be made.

The whelpling squirmed and made a soft chirp of contentment.

A surge of paternal affection made Fahrad hold him closer and nuzzle his chin against the hatchling's forehead.

So be it.  He would do whatever it took for his son to be safe and happy.  When it was over, he knew Nyxondra would be waiting for him on the other side of the sky.


End file.
